


Into The Black And White

by the_ren_lover



Category: Black Friday - Team StarKid, Marvel Cinematic Universe, StarKid Productions RPF, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Betaed, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Black Friday AU, Blink And You’ll Miss It Tony Stark/Bruce Banner, Camp Nanowrimo, Cults, Eventual Smut, Evil Loki (Marvel), Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Gay Bucky Barnes, Good versus Evil, Hurt/Comfort, I Promise It Isn’t As Depressing As It Sounds..., Minor Character Death, Mourning, Multi, Parenthood, Past James “Bucky” Barnes/Helmut Zemo, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Scary, Steve Rogers Has PTSD, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, highschool sweethearts, mentions of abuse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 24,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25012549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ren_lover/pseuds/the_ren_lover
Summary: This Christmas season the hottest toy on the market is the Tickle-Me-Thanos by Trickster Toys and Steve Rogers is absolutely certain that obtaining one will win him back the love of his daughter. Unfortunately, he’s not the only one who’ll go to drastic measures to get their hands on one of the precious few dolls in the small town of Hatchetfield. There is chaos on the horizon this Black Friday; is it simple shopping mania, or is a darker force pulling the strings?(The Black Friday/Marvel Crossover AU nobody asked for but I’m providing. You don’t need to have seen Black Friday to understand this work)Updating Sundays and Wednesdays
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Loki & Thor (Marvel), Pietro Maximoff & Wanda Maximoff, Wanda Maximoff & Peter Parker, Wanda Maximoff/Vision
Comments: 15
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

There are things in this world that truly cannot be explained. People are born and die every day. The world turns. You can convince yourself that there are greater forces at play, but that comforts the living, not the dead. Deaths are not planned on an eternal calendar, with each and every one serving a divine purpose. Death is caused by a divine whim. Life is a fragile weave on a loom, and you never quite know when your thread will be cut. Stories begin and end with little more than a clip at the hands of the fates. 

Sometimes, on this grand, olympian stage, things get tangled. Threads cross from looms spanning an infinite amount of possible universes. The Hatchetfield of our tale is not the Hatchetfield of another, but is Hatchetfield nonetheless. Sometimes, these threads are desperate to escape their own little textiles. They need more. Thanos. Needs. More. 

Stick to your gut, don’t trust anyone, and most importantly, remember; two doors, not one.

————————

There were only three FM radio stations that reached Hatchetfield from the outer banks of Lake Erie. The first was the local public access radio, droning on in it’s endless, uniform monotony through the stereos of early morning commuters and rich philanthropists alike. The second was the beloved Hatchetfield Classics Radio. Run by retired college professor Henry Hidgens, the rotation of songs on HFCR hadn’t changed much since he had started testing his luck as a disk jockey. That was in 1962. Finally, the third and most used radio station in Hatchetfield was CHFM. CHFM, or Clivesdale Hits FM, was broadcasted live from the neighboring town of Clivesdale, drifting across the Nantucket Bridge and bringing with it the most popular new music as it had for as long as anybody on the little island could remember. 

On the morning of November 29th, 2019, for the very first time in history, all three radio stations were broadcasting the same thing. Oddly enough, most of the TV stations in town were too. One thing was utterly inescapable that crisp, cold morning, and that thing was Tickle-Me-Thanos. Clint Barton couldn’t have been more annoyed.

“Are you kidding me!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defeat. Natasha just laughed from the driver's seat, pulling out of her parking spot with ease in the darkness of the early morning. “Don’t laugh, literally every station is playing that stupid commercial!”

“I just don’t understand why you’re so upset about it,” Natasha took a left, guiding her small sedan out of the Beanies parking lot and onto the road out of town. Little flurries of white made their way across the windshield, reflecting the first peachy rays of morning light as they appeared. 

“The jingle is just so…”

“Catchy?”

“No, long. Who makes a two or three minute commercial these days, and more importantly, who can afford it? I mean, that’s a lot of money. Like, _a lot_ a lot.” Clint’s rant was cut off by another one of Natasha’s sharp laughs. 

“Well, it’s Black Friday. I’m sure after today, when you can’t buy a doll first hand even if you sell your soul, you won’t have to listen to it ever again.” Clint simply responded with a shrug and a sigh. Natasha wasn’t wrong, and Clint wasn’t one to keep fighting her when he knew he was beat. After her laughter petered out, the car was filled with the dull roar of the heater and the jingle coming through the car radio. 

For all Clint’s griping, the commercial wasn’t badly put together. A cheery children’s chorus extolled the virtues of the heavenly and extremely overpriced doll, always referring back to a mysterious man by the name of Mister Lock to answer their questions. _Mister Lock_ , they’d say, voices saccharine and wide, _what if my Tickle-Me-Thanos gets dirty?_ He’d reply back, _my dearest children, if Thanos is looking ragged you can simply brush his hair with his special infinity comb, sold separately for $9.99. Should he become stained, you should simply inform your parents and have him put in the wash, for his insides are made of foam that is certified laundry safe._

Not that Clint would ever admit it, but Mister Lock was what truly unsettled him about the whole thing. He could deal with annoying children. Something about that man, though, simply made Clint’s skin crawl and he couldn’t quite place why. There was a quality in his voice that almost seemed hypnotic and the effect only seemed to double when Clint saw the commercial on TV, gazing deeply into the mysterious man’s deep green eyes. Whoever he was, because it wasn’t likely that Mister Lock was his real name, it seemed like his reason for being born was to star in that damned advert. 

The ad was almost over now, with the last cheery little chorus ringing out in the car, and even Natasha could’ve admitted that she was glad it was over. With the amount of times she’d heard it in the last week alone she probably could’ve recited it word of word. _Remember kids_ , she could almost picture Mister Lock’s thin-lipped smirk through the radio, _what you want for Christmas is a Tickle-Me-Thanos, available this Black Friday for $49.95 at your local toy store!_ Then, it was done, replaced with some Elvis Christmas tune everyone had heard a thousand times. 

“Since when does Christmas start the day after Thanksgiving?” Clint snapped, turning the radio off with a huff, “Thanksgiving was literally less than 24 hours ago Nat, can’t people just wait until December?” 

“Are you going to spend this entire car trip complaining, Clint, or are you going to let me enjoy it?”

He shut up then, turning the radio back on and gazing out the window at the passing, snow-covered pines and the few other cars out on the road. It was really snowing now. Big white clumps of fluff settled on the world, the perfect snow for igloos and snowmen. Knowing the forecast and the lazy nature of the local plow company, it would be a hell of a drive home. Natasha gripped the wheel a little bit harder. Peggy had been driving in very similar circumstances last year. It seemed silly, but the thought of her sister made Natasha blink away a couple of tears.

Clint noticed her stress and gently set a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of the moment. She muttered a soft thanks, focusing on the road yet again. The sky was fully bright now even with the snow coming down in sheets. The world was filled with a refreshing crisp quality. They drove for a few minutes in that peaceable silence, gazing out their respective windows at the early risers of the world. 

Nothing was quite like an early winter morning in Hatchetfield, filled with hot chocolate and smiling faces. Even though calendars hadn’t been turned to December yet, there were already Christmas lights everywhere you looked. At businesses, the early shift was busy setting up for the inevitable masses of humanity that would tear through their shelves like a pack of wild animals, but soon enough they too would be hanging up garland and tinsel as far as the eye could see. If someone could picture a quaint town on a holiday greeting card or the setting of a Hallmark movie, then they could picture Hatchetfield on that snowy November morning. Clint again found himself irked by the holiday spirit. It only made him more upset when the music paused again, interrupted by, you guessed it, the same ad that had played less than ten minutes earlier.

The radio was turned off with a soft click. “Well,” Natasha chuckled, “I guess we’ll have to do without music then,”

“I just don’t get it Nat, what’s so great about Thanos? It’s just a teddy bear, but it’s purple and it’s an oddly buff man with a massive chin instead of a bear. What about that is so appealing to kids?”

“I couldn’t tell you,” Natasha took a sip of her coffee and winced at the heat of it. “I mean, there are loads of weird toys out there that you’d never guess kids love, like pet rocks! I mean, what’s weirder than a pet rock? It’s just a rock with a face, but when they got big people paid like twenty dollars a pop for those. Cabbage Patch kids too. Parents were buying their kids babies who popped out of a fucking salad,” Clint snorted at the thought.

“Didn’t people riot over Cabbage Patch Kids?” Clint cocked his head to the side, smirking, “I can’t imagine someone trampling other people to get one of those stupid purple muscle men dolls or their ‘ _special accessories’.”_

“The point is, as long as they advertise these stupid new toys like they’re the coolest thing available, kids are going to want them and parents are going to buy them. It’s the glory of capitalism.” Natasha shook her head, looking down at her phone to make sure of the route. It wasn’t as though there was any way she was going the wrong direction, she had lived in Hatchetfield her entire life and was headed straight to the house where she had grown up, but it all felt so distant to her now. She was a different girl than the one who drove home from school every day on this road with her sister. She was alone now, but not entirely.

Glancing to her side, there was Clint smiling at the world outside the car. It felt good she wasn’t going into the lion's den alone, though she was entirely sure that she _could_ do it on her own. “Hey, Clint?” She asked. 

“Yeah, Nat?”

“Don’t mention any of this stuff to Sharon once we get to Steve’s house, alright? She’s only ten, and I can only imagine she want’s a Tickle-Me-Thanos as much as every other kid her age. Plus, I can only imagine that Steve will never invite me over again if we traumatize his kid… well, traumatize her more.”

“Got it, don’t upset the future relatives! It’s as good as done.”

The car slowed a bit as they turned into the little suburban paradise. At the end of the street they could see their destination bare of any decorations for Thanksgiving or Christmas. Natasha sighed, pulling into the neatly shoveled driveway of the Rogers household a little more carefully than she usually would have. She remembered the one holiday she had come home before the accident that the house had been decorated meticulously, like a spread in Better Homes and Gardens. Peggy had always loved Christmas. Now, the bare lawn was just another reminder that when Natasha walked in the door, her sister wouldn’t be there to greet her. Clint, unaware of the gravitas of the situation, was all too pleased about the lack of decor.

“You should’ve introduced me to this guy earlier Nat! He’s got the right idea, no decorations until December!” He stepped out of the car, popping the trunk to grab one of several large bags. 

“Clint, the car crash was last Christmas,” Frozen like a deer in headlights, Clint gritted his teeth. 

“Fuck,” was all he could manage to say.

“Yeah. If I died in a terrible car crash on Easter I don’t expect that you’d be doing any egg hunting the next year.” With that, Natasha slammed her car door and joined Clint behind the car, grabbing the last of the bags. “Don’t get me wrong, Steve was never my favorite person, but Peggy married him. That means he and Sharon are family, so when they call us over to celebrate a late Thanksgiving we show up. It’s just the way it works.” She paused, then “Sharon is the only real family I have left, Clint, and I’ve met her once. In all the years I’ve known Steve he’s called me three times. I’m not going to waste my chance to have a family again, so I can’t fuck this up. I need this to work, okay?” 

Clint was silent for a moment, then wrapping his free arm around Natasha’s shoulders. “Don’t worry Nat, it’s gonna be great, I promise,” The pair made their way up the winding path to the front door slowly, snow crunching under their boots. On the way, Natasha finished the last of her coffee and braced herself for the way of emotions that would overtake her once she got inside. _One step at a time, Nat_ , she told herself, _one step at a time_.

“Nat,” they were at the door now, and Clint was ringing the bell, “Everything is gonna be ok, ok? If you really can’t take this, we can always ditch and get the lunch special at Red Lobster. That way, you die of hepatitis instead of embarrassment!” While Natasha was busy trying to keep a straight face, the door opened.

Steve Rogers, at a glance, was a clearly damaged man. Gone was the suave, strong captain of the football team Natasha remembered from high school. Standing in his place was a six foot shell of a man with facial hair so wild you could barely consider it a beard. Despite the cold he was wearing a slightly stained wife beater with jeans and work boots. His face was devoid of any sort of cheer. Clint thought, for a moment, that they had simply driven to the wrong house, but then Steve spoke, eyebrows crinkling in displeasure.

“Natasha,” he was polite, but his tone was curt and his word clipped, “It’s been a while.”

“Steve, thanks for inviting us,” Clint was surprised to note that even though Natasha had been unsettled moments earlier, the second Steve came to the door she was the picture of calm.

“You’re late,” This time, Steve’s tone wasn’t quite so polite.

“It’s 6:30 in the morning,”

“I asked you to be here at 6, but I guess coffee from Beanie’s was more important than getting here on time,”

“Are you going to let us in or what?” 

Watching Steve and Natasha quip back and forth, Clint was reminded of a National Geographic special he had watched a few weeks before. He didn’t quite remember the finer details but he did vividly recall the image of two lions having the stare down of the century over a dead water buffalo. It was a dispute over food, yes, but also over who was the more dominant lion. It was irrational, but Clint was starting to feel a little too much like that dead water buffalo, or maybe a nearby gazelle at risk of being torn to shreds if the dispute turned deadly. Though it had been a joke, Red Lobster and hepatitis were sounding better and better every second that passed. 

Suddenly, Steve stepped aside and into the foyer with a loud sigh. It seemed Natasha had won this round, not that she ever lost. “Sharon is waiting in the living room, I think you know how to get there,” and with that, Steve started to disappear down a hallway. 

“Wait,” Clint called out, “aren’t you going to join us?”

Steve blinked slowly. “Uh, can I get dressed first, jackass?” Clint didn’t bother to say anything else, following Natasha blindly in the opposite direction, hopefully to the foyer.

Natasha knew exactly where she was going, of course. The house looked mostly the same as she had left it 13 years earlier besides a fresh coat of paint here and there. Even the furniture and decor hadn’t seemed to change, but that was no surprise to Nat. Peggy had always been the more sentimental sister of the two, so the idea of her throwing anything out after their parents passed away was out of the question. Now that she was getting older, Natasha was realizing she wished she had been more sentimental in the past, then maybe she’d have something more to remember Peggy by. 

“Well he seems like a real jackass,” Clint whispered as they made their way through the house. 

Natasha nodded, “not always, but yeah. He’s an alright guy deep down, but he’s had a pretty shitty past couple of years.”

After a moment, they made it to the living room. Large windows lined the walls, letting in plenty of bright, natural light that danced on glass bric-a-brac and curios lining shelves. In the center of the room sat Sharon, tracing her hand to make a turkey with crayon on a piece of lined paper. Natasha hadn’t seen her for years, and when the girl finally lifted her head up and waved at them, she couldn’t help but notice how much like Peggy she looked. Her hair was different, yes, but her face and eyes were spot on. It was almost like looking through a warp in time, because if the clock had been turned back about twenty years Natasha was sure Peggy would’ve been seated at that exact same couch celebrating the holidays with arts and crafts.

“Hey, Sharon, do you remember me?” Natasha asked, walking over to Sharon wearing a wide smile, “I’m your aunt, my name is Natasha but you can call me Nat.”

Sharon smiled back, and though the smile wasn’t ingenuine it was far from the happy-go-lucky smile a kid should be wearing around Christmas. “I don’t really remember you, but I know who you are. My mom used to show me pictures,” her voice petered off a bit and Natasha’s heart broke.

“Well, somebody told me you didn’t get to celebrate Thanksgiving yesterday but I did hear you and your dad went to Pizza Pete’s to celebrate, was that fun?” All Natasha got in response was a shrug as Sharon picked up her crayon again, adding legs and eyes to her hand turkey.

“Aw man, I love Pizza Pete’s!” Clint chimed in from the doorway, walking over to Natasha’s side. Sharon stared at him, confused.

“Uh, who are _you_?” Sharon asked. The question was genuine but defensive.

“I’m Clint, your Aunt Nat’s boyfriend! You can just call me Uncle Clint” 

The look Natasha gave him could have killed.

“Well, we haven’t really decided to take our relationship that far yet,” Natasha said through gritted teeth. Unfortunately, Clint was already talking, and if Natasha knew anything it was that once he decided to say something it was going to be said, no matter how hard she tried to stop him.

“We are intimate, though,” 

There it was. Natasha tugged on his jacket sleeve, hard, but it was too late, the damage was done. Sharon’s full attention was on them now, but she wasn’t smiling anymore. Instead her face was contorted in disgust. Clint was mortified, which was absolutely warrranted, and floundered for a way to fix it.

“Fu- uh… well when I was a kid I loved going to Pizza Pete’s with my dad. We always went on the bumper cars together, did you and your dad go on the bumper cars?”

Sharon's face was neutral now, but it was clear she had entirely disconnected from the two adults in front of her. “No, actually I don’t really like getting hit by cars anymore…”

“Oh, right, because of the… accident last year… I’ll stop now.”

If Natasha’s earlier look could have killed a man, this one could murder him in cold blood, dismember him, and feed his body to pigs. 

“Well that stuff is for little kids, and trust me, bumper cars have always been dumb,” Natasha sat down next to Sharon on the couch then, setting her empty travel cup on the ground and trying desperately to salvage the moment, “the really cool thing at Pizza Pete’s is that they have all those arcade games.” At that Sharon smiled again, though it was small.

“Yeah, mom and I used to play this one Jurassic Park game where you had to shoot the dinosaurs,” the smile dropped from Sharon’s face, “but my dad can’t play that game ‘cause his doctor says he isn’t supposed to hold guns, even fake ones. They give him flashbacks.” Clint and Natasha winced, this was not going according to plan at all.

As if on cue, Steve walked into the room at that moment now dressed in a blue flannel with his wild hair slightly tamed and a coat slung over his shoulder. “What are you telling your Aunt Nat?” He asked gruffly, sitting down on a nearby ottoman.

Shrugging, Sharon responded nonchalantly “I’m telling them about how your doctor says you can’t play the Jurassic Park game at Pizza Pete’s because you’ll get flashbacks.”

“I do not,” Steve responded weakly, “I just remember bad things vividly sometimes.” In that moment, Clint couldn’t have been more confused. From the moment he had set foot in that house it seemed like nothing was going normally. Natasha seemed to notice his discomfort and clued him in gently, though still slightly frustrated about his earlier mishaps.

“Steve did two tours in Iraq and Afghanistan right after he married Peggy,” 

“Oh, thank you for your service Mr. Rogers!”

Steve nodded in response, but otherwise ignored Clint’s comment completely, instead choosing to contradict Sharon again while putting on his jacket. “I could’ve played that dinosaur game if you’d asked Sharon, but I was a little busy winning you tickets from Pac-Man so you could get that t-shirt from the rewards counter!” He seemed almost proud of himself in that moment, and it was the most alive that Natasha and Clint had seen him since they arrived.

“Pac-Man sucks dad, and it's not even that hard, you just aren’t very good at anything else.” Steve seemed dead inside again. 

Natasha, always on top of things, chose to interrupt then, pulling a ziplock bag full of turkey out of one of the bags she and Clint had brought inside. “Well even if yesterday wasn’t very fun, that doesn’t mean we can’t have a good time today!” Natasha started to beam when Sharon’s face lit up at the sight of turkey. Maybe today wasn’t going to turn out badly after all. “Clint and I brought all our leftovers from yesterday so you could have a belated Thanksgiving! We also brought a whole bunch of games and movies, but if you have anything here you’d rather do we can always save them for next time. That hand turkey you’re making is pretty cool, I’d love it if you could make me one.”

There was something about Natasha in that moment that made Sharon look hopeful, almost excited. From the way Steve’s mouth gaped, Clint could only imagine that it was rare to see the young girl excited about anything these days. He couldn’t blame her, of course, if he had lost his mother he probably wouldn’t be very cheery either. Something in the back of his mind told him that just maybe Natasha was more like her sister than she said she was, and Sharon was seeing more in her newly rediscovered aunt than what was on the surface. Steve, then smiling for the first time that Clint had seen, stood up and clapped his hands together.

“I’m sure you guys are gonna have a great time today! I can’t thank you two enough for this, hopefully you’ll only have to watch Sharon for a few hours and then you can head back home,” he said, moving towards the doorway, but Natasha stood up quickly, moving to block his way.

“Wait, where are you going?” Her voice was laced with venom. Clint could feel a storm brewing in the air as he watched Natasha and Steve square up again. It became clear very quickly that this time would be even worse than the last now that Natasha’s pride was at stake. Things were about to get very messy, very fast.

“Does it matter?” Steve shot back, “I called you guys to watch Sharon while I went out.”

“Uh, yes it does matter, because when you called me I thought we were going to be celebrating Thanksgiving. You didn’t, actually, let me know that you wouldn’t be joining us for the celebration, Steve,” She spit out his name with such vitriol that Clint could’ve sworn she actually spit at him. With a laugh, Natasha threw her hands up, “Silly me, I thought we were celebrating a holiday as a family but I guess I’m here to babysit instead.” Her voice broke imperceptibly at the end of the sentence but she didn’t let herself cry in front of Steve, there would be plenty of time for that once she got home.

“Emma, our usual sitter, is over the bridge in Clivesdale with her family and nobody else was free today. Trust me, I wouldn’t have bothered you guys if I had any other option available. Sorry if I got in the way of other plans. I’ll do my best to get back here quick so you can leave” There was something about the way Steve apologized that rang true. It seemed he was genuinely sorry that he had misled them, but somehow the rest of him stood just all tall and proud as usual, showing no signs of remorse. Natasha, in a move entirely out of character for her, backed off. She retreated to an armchair against the wall, pinching the bridge of her nose and muttering something to herself about Red Lobster.

Suddenly, Sharon spoke up, standing from her place on the couch and walking over to her dad with an unbearably morose look on her face. “Dad,” she said gently, “I thought you were gonna be here with us too. What’s important enough that you have to go get it today?” 

“Sharon, honey, I promise I wouldn’t be leaving if it wasn’t time sensitive, but it is.” Steve’s voice was soft, hushed and altogether too fatherly. The voice coming out of him didn’t match the man on the outside. Maybe on the inside, though, it did. 

“What is it? Can’t I at least know what’s more important than I am?” Sharon’s word’s stung Natasha and Clint even though they weren’t directed at them, so it wasn’t hard to imagine that they hit Steve right where it hurt.

“I need to buy a new blade for my bandsaw, ok? They’re 50% off at the Home Depot today and I know they’re gonna sell out fast, so I need to get there right when they open.” Steve explained, but Sharon just started crying. She stomped her foot, huffing, and quickly turned away from her father.

“Wow, it’s nice to know a holiday with family is less important that a stupid saw!” She yelled, stomping off down the hallway and up the stairs as Steve called after her. Presumably she was retreating up to her room and Natasha couldn’t blame her. In fact, she was surprised that Sharon had lasted so long downstairs with the rest of them, when she was ten she wouldn’t have lasted 5 minutes in that awkwardly tense living room. 

Rage flooded Natasha’s senses. In a flash she stopped caring about keeping Steve happy or maintaining a connection to family. Her heart was screaming for the little girl crying alone in her room who felt like she didn’t have anyone left on her side. It’s what Peggy would’ve done, so it was what needed to happen. “Great job Steve!” The sarcasm was heavy in Natasha’s tone, so much so that Clint walked over to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, hoping to calm her down. It didn’t work. “You just used my favorite parenting technique of all time, making your kid feel less important than a power tool! I’m gonna have to remember that one for when I become a parent”

She was standing now, getting in Steve's face as he clenched his fists. Clint was a dead water buffalo between two hungry, angry lions again, and he reached up to turn down his hearing aid in preparation for the oncoming blowout. 

“Alright, I know I’m not Super-dad, but you need to calm down,” Steve spat, voice low, “It was a fuck up, I know, but I couldn’t tell Sharon why I’m going out, it would ruin the surprise.” Slowly, a smile spread across his face, “You can’t tell Sharon, but I’m going to the mall to get her big Christmas present for this year.”

The room went still and silent as Natasha absorbed the information. After a moment of deliberation she backed down, crossing her arms in front of her chest and looking at Steve expectantly. “Well, whatever it is it’d better be good if it’s going to make up for this whole mess.”

“Oh it is,” Steve’s voice was alive with excitement, “I’m going to ToyZone to get her one of those purple guys I’ve been seeing a whole bunch of commercials for. You know, the ones you tickle with the big chins?”

“You’re kidding,” For the first time that day, Natasha was thankful for the existence of that stupid purple doll. “You’re getting Sharon a Tickle-Me-Thanos? I’m sure she’s going to love it. When did you pre-order it?”

Clint chimed in next, having decided that the situation was diffused enough to join in. “I know this guy, Bill, who works at my office. He pre-ordered one from Amazon for his daughter all the way back in July and even then he was almost put on a waitlist.”

Steve just kept smiling, silently boasting about his small parenting victory, “Nope, the ToyZone at the mall doesn’t do pre-orders, but it’s first come, first served so I should be ok if I get there right when they open. At 7:20 sharp I’ll walk in and beat the big rush,” Natasha and Clint’s faces fell. “What?” Steve asked. It was clear he was clueless about just how cutthroat the competition would be.

Holding out a little bit of hope, Clint asked “do you have a friend holding your place in line?” but all he got was a confused Steve shaking his head no.

“What do you mean? There won’t be a line yet, I’m going to get there ten minutes before the store even opens. If anything, _I’ll_ be the line,” Steve was laughing, still in high spirits, but he wouldn’t be for long. Maybe it was because he was genuinely clueless or maybe because he had lost his wife last Christmas, but Natasha started to feel a little bit of sympathy for Steve.

“Steve,” she said, as gently as possible, “I know you don’t really do shopping like this very often, so I need to let you know that this doll isn’t going to be easy to get.” Steve’s face turned sour quickly. 

“I only knew about Bill pre-ordering one so early because Ted, another guy at my office, tried to order one online about a month ago and he said he’s so far down the waitlist he might not be able to get one until next Christmas, and even that isn’t guaranteed,” Clint added, biting his cheek. Though he and Natasha hadn’t exactly gotten off on the right foot when it came to Steve Rogers, only someone heartless wouldn’t feel bad for a man so desperate to make his child happy making such a fatal and almost irredeemable misstep. Tragedy was not a stranger to Steve, but it blindsided him every time it appeared nonetheless. 

“Are you kidding me?” Steve’s voice was hushed, juxtaposing his usual gruffness. Clint could almost feel Steve’s heart break even from a distance.

“I’m sorry to have to say this, but it might not be worth driving all the way down to the mall at this point…” 

“Goddamnit,” Steve’s fist connected with the wall, “Peggy always knew exactly what to do when it came to Christmas. Now that she’s gone I have no clue how to put together a holiday for Sharon.” Though he didn’t say it out loud, his words boiled down to one thing: failure. He felt like an absolute failure of a parent, and from what Natasha had seen she couldn’t really deny that he was one. 

“You could get her something else, like a Nintendo Switch! Those are pretty popular these days,” Natasha offered, but Steve turned his back on her.

“She doesn’t want a Nintendo Switch, she wants this stupid fucking Tickle-Me-Thanos doll, and I’ll be damned if I can’t do this one thing to make my kid happy,” With that, Steve was zipping up his jacket and stomping down the hallway towards the front door, fleeing like a bat out of hell. 

“Where are you going?” Clint asked, tailing Steve as quickly as possible with Natasha following behind him.

Steve exploded, a ball of emotional viscera, “to ToyZone. Sharon lost more than any kid should ever lose last Christmas. At this time last year she was out ice skating and making snowmen with her mother, this year she’s stuck inside with me trying to fill Peggy’s shoes, which I will never be able to do, I know. If anybody deserves exactly what they want this Christmas, it’s Sharon, so I’m leaving this goddamn house and I’m not coming back until I get one of those dolls.” In the blink of an eye, he was out the door and in his truck, tearing out of the driveway and into the unknown. Little did he know that with the horrors awaiting him at the Hatchetfield Mall, he would be lucky to return at all. 

Natasha and Clint were left in the foyer, looking dazedly at the empty air where Steve was standing just moments before. “Well, that was unexpected,” Clint breathed, finally toeing off his shoes and watching Steve speed out of the little neighborhood, “do you think he’s gonna get a Thanos?”

“Fuck no,” Natasha’s tone was incredibly dry, but warmer than it usually was, “but I hope he does, against all the odds. He might be an asshole, but he was my sister’s asshole, and Sharon deserves a good Christmas. There’s only one thing I know for sure.”

“And that is?”

“I know if Peggy’s out there, somewhere, she’ll give him the luck he needs to find one of those dolls” 

Natasha was right in the fact that Peggy’s soul was out in the universe, but was wrong in a major way. In reality, the whole of heaven was screaming out for Steve to turn around before it was too late. Unfortunately, he couldn’t hear it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Hatchetfield Mall was a three story goliath, towering in all it’s bland, boxy glory over several plots of open, undeveloped land and the local Red Lobster. It had stood in that same spot for almost 70 years hosting a variety of big box stores and small businesses alike. In a town like Hatchetfield, the mall was the center of the social universe to everyone under the age of 25 and had been for as long as anybody could remember. That building held memories of the greatest days of people's lives, and Steve Rogers was no exception. 

Born and raised in the suburbs, Steve Rogers was the all-american apple pie ideal of a man for the first 20 years of his life. He was always top of his class, doing charitable work for the NHS, working weekends and playing for the varsity football team. Even after highschool, he had become an example, marrying a sweet, hometown girl at nineteen before shipping off to serve his country at 20. If you were to end his story there, he probably wouldn't be speeding down a road at 6:45 in the morning, cursing under his breath and trying not to ruin Christmas for his kid. 

But then, things took a turn for the worse. Serving on the frontlines of a useless war gave him a new perspective on his country. Pessimistic and broken, he came home to a child who didn’t know their father. He took some online classes, got a teaching job and tried to move on with his life, but then Peggy’s parents passed, and just a few years later Peggy herself… well, life wasn’t quite so idyllic anymore. When it’s great concrete parapets stood starkly on the horizon, Steve had a sudden realization that he hadn’t been to Hatchetfield Mall since well before her accident. 

Peggy had held him together when he came back home, helping him function, taking care of their daughter, setting up holiday parties, doing the shopping, all while working remotely for a newspaper in Clivesdale. How she did it all, Steve would never know. After the funeral he had floundered. Sure the life insurance gave him a good chunk of money, so he knew he’d be able to take care of Sharon until he managed to find a new job that paid better, but a lack of money wasn’t the big problem, single parenthood was. He often spent weeks holed up in the house, only leaving once Sharon complained about a lack of food in the fridge or needing something for school. Things had been better recently once he started seeing a grief counselor, but Sharon was still suffering and he was still learning how to function in society again. 

Steve had been certain that getting her this doll would set them on the right track again, and that to mend the holes in their relationship all he had to do was show up to the mall and show his face in public for a few minutes. It all seemed so simple from the safety of his little office as he schemed. Now, pulling into a packed mall parking lot, all he could do was slam his fist into the dashboard and grit his teeth. “If Peggy were here,” he muttered to himself, weaving in and out of endless full rows of cars, “she would’ve showed up hours ago with a lawn chair and snacks for the wait.”

A line of cars was busy trundling from lot to lot in search of open spaces that no longer existed, dragging out Steve’s agony longer and longer, but that line was the only way he stood a chance of ever getting into the mall, so he simply joined in, screaming at the cars around him every time they stopped suddenly. The asphalt was slick with slush and the snow was still coming down in a thick white curtain, the kind that kept windshield wipers on full speed and people on high alert. It was difficult for Steve not to think about how the snow had been so similar last Christmas.

They were coming home from a Christmas party in Clivesdale when it happened. Sharon was fast asleep in the backseat with the toys she’d received from Steve’s mother, head leaning against the window. He’d had one too many drinks, something he’d regret for the rest of his life, so he let Peggy drive for once. Both Steve and Sharon were half asleep for the drive until, shortly past the Nantucket Bridge, he had snapped awake to the sound of Peggy’s screams.

Looking back on the night, Steve remembered very little about the actual accident. There was a bright light (something he would find out later was actually the headlights of a drunk driver who had drifted out of their lane), a flash, a bang, and then blackness. He could, however, remember every minute detail of the aftermath. Sharon’s wails, the sirens in the distance, Peggy’s voice assuring him, the deafening boom of the car’s engine exploding, the flames…

A sharp honk snapped Steve out of his memories, urging him to continue driving forward through the falling snow and falling tears. Sniffling, he blinked away the evidence of his moment, and scanned the parking lots as a distraction. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he focused or how many times he said _L. Ron Hubbard_ under his breath, he couldn't find a single open space. Only after 3 trips around the circumference of the mall did he realize there was no way he was going to find an open spot. 

Then, out of the blue, bingo! Behind the mall, tucked between dumpsters, was a massive, empty space just begging to be filled by Steve’s car. Not a single other person seemed to notice the holy grail of parking spots just waiting for them. “Jackpot,” Steve exclaimed. Carefully, so he didn’t attract the watchful eyes of other shoppers, he pulled out of the line of cars and made his way to the back lot. It became clear that the area was a loading dock, but what completely idiotic company would deliver it’s goods on the morning of Black Friday right before the mall opened? With any luck, Steve thought he would be in and out well before anyone even saw his car was there. 

With total disregard for the law, he parked his car and started walking towards the closest mall entrance which, luckily for him, was almost directly next to ToyZone, seemingly scott-free. It was just Steve’s luck, though, that someone was standing almost directly in front of him who had witnessed him parking in a no-parking zone like a total asshole. They had stayed hidden, obscured by a dumpster, but Steve didn’t worry too much about them. Steve thought about turning around and finding somewhere else to park but they didn’t seem like someone who cared too strongly about the law, especially based on the strong smell of weed and tobacco clinging to their clothes. Even if they did cause a stink about it, he was much more willing to get a ticket than to fuck up Christmas for his kid. 

Steve’s luck was truly terrible, because as he passed the smoker’s little nook, they stubbed out their cigarette and emerged, nearly slamming into him full force. “Are you alright?” He asked, annoyed.

“I don’t know, do I look alright?” The smoker responded, tugging the edges of their hood closer to their face to guard against the high snow. Steve was fully ready to get defensive, but he just took a deep breath and tried to contain his anger. He didn’t need to go around pissing off a witness to his illegal parking job.

“Hey, lady,” Steve was significantly gentler with his approach than he had been a moment earlier, “do you think it’ll be fine if I leave my car there?” If there was a way for a jacked, six foot tall, 200 pound, bearded man to look sheepish, Steve did. This seemed to appease the smoker, as she gave an amused huff in response and leaned on one of the large dumpsters next to her.

“Yeah, it says no parking at any time,” her tone was young but dry, the voice of someone who has put up with a little too much shit recently, “but I’m sure if there are any loading trucks they can just park across the street. Does that work for you?” With a dry laugh, she took off her hood, revealing a head of bright red hair. Once Steve saw her face he felt like an idiot for not recognizing her sooner.

“Wait, Wanda? Is that you?” He asked, taking off his hood as well to give her a better view of his face. She didn’t seem surprised at all.

“Hey Mr. Rogers,” Wanda droned, mildly amused, while she picked at the cuticles of her nails. 

Steve didn’t quite know how he was supposed to react. His first reaction, though, was to wave his hands in the general direction of her now-extinguished cigarette and ask her, “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“Ruining your lungs! That’s what it looks like!” Steve was more offended than he had a right to be. It had been a hot minute since he had been a teacher, but he hoped the disappointment on his face would be scathing enough to make Wanda, one of his favorite former students, rethink her life choices. Unfortunately for him, he had about the same effect on her as a health class PSA… none. “Does your mother know you smoke?” 

Wanda seemed mildly amused at that, finally looking Steve in the eye. “Mr. Rogers, my mom doesn’t give a shit what I do as long as I keep the bills paid and bring home enough weed to share.”

Steve was, to say the least, scandalized. “Your mother smokes weed?” He paused, then had a realization, “ _You_ smoke weed?” 

“Welcome to the real world Mr. Rogers, it’s legal now!”

“Not for anyone under 21,” Steve realized he’d started to shout again, taking a deep breath before continuing, “Come on Wanda, I thought you’d gotten clean. The last time I saw you you were actually doing pretty well for yourself. You were at the top of the class, I would know,” 

Wanda broke into a fit of laughter, doubling over. Around them, the snow had slowed it’s descent upon the world but was still drifting through the air gently. “Well for one, I couldn’t have graduated on time even if I tried, and I didn’t try. Also, I hate to remind you Mr. Rogers, but you were in charge of shop class. Everyone gets an A in that class unless they fuck around and chop off their finger.”

“No, actually, that isn’t true! Do you remember James Howlett? He put in the effort, so I didn’t hold one little accident against him. Come on Wanda, you’re better than this.”

“Funny enough,” the jovial tone that had been present in Wanda’s voice for the last few minutes dropped, sending it back to it’s usual, neutral sound, “your class was the only thing holding up my GPA. When shop class got cancelled because of your family emergency, they flunked me.” Steve stood, silent, but couldn’t find a good way to defend himself. “All I did was follow your example and never come back.”

“You know that’s not fair Wanda,” his voice was soft now, “to me or to you.” There were very few things that Steve Rogers had truly cared about since his return from the Middle East, but teaching was one of them. It had been harder than he was willing to express to leave behind his job and the kids that depended on him, but Sharon needed him more. Watching Wanda, a girl with so much potential, end up smoking in an alley behind the mall was hard enough when he was blaming himself silently. It was a whole different ball game when she started blaming him too.

“You’re not the only one who’s lost thing’s Mr. Rogers, if you could tap out so could I.” The malice in her voice was gone as soon as it had appeared, giving way for a little bit of levity, “Don’t worry about me Mr. Rogers. School is supposed to prepare people to become productive members of society, right? Well, I’ve got a job so that’s something, or is stocker at ToyZone not a good enough use of my endless potential?”

Steve froze. “ToyZone?”

“Yeah,” Wanda eyed him suspiciously, “do you have a problem with retail or something because if-”

“No,” He cut her off, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiling widely, “No Wanda, actually I think it’s a really great job for you.” Wanda’s confusion was palpable as she took in his words. “In fact, I’m really proud of you for going out there and getting a job. Sometimes the education system just doesn’t work for people, that’s ok.”

She smiled, genuinely amused by Steve’s outburst, “Yeah, well someone has to pay for my drinking habit.” Steve was taken aback by the casual nature with which she discussed her drinking problem but quickly dropped it. She might be the only person who could help him so it was no use trying to dissuade her from her choices. It didn’t matter if she was making meth in the school basement as long as she helped him get his hands on a Thanos.

“That’s funny Wanda, really, but listen, I’m here to get a Christmas present for my kid,” the suspicious look came over her again, making Steve panic, “it’s one of those Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls.”

Realization dawned on Wanda’s face, followed by a brief moment where she almost looked betrayed. All she managed to say was _oh_ before Steve continued, stepping closer.

“I didn’t realize that so many people would be after one, silly me right? Do you think there’s anything you could, you know, do for me to help me out?” Steve tried to look as innocent as possible. A small smile grew on Wanda’s face, turning quickly into a devious smirk as she waved him closer.

“Do you mean I should, like, put one aside for you?” She said, leaning in conspiratorially and looking around to check if anyone was watching. Steve nodded in confirmation, Wanda’s smile somehow growing even wider. “You mean I should put one under the counter with your name on it to screw over the hundreds of other people who have been waiting in line before you got here?”

“Yeah, actually that would be perfect,” Steve replied, beaming. It was all becoming so clear to him now. He’d simply have to wait in the line for however long it took and then pay for the doll, with no worry about if there would be one left for him. Depending on how long Wanda could keep it, he might even be able to go home and spend the day with Sharon before picking the doll up the next day. Every piece of the grand puzzle was falling into place. 

“Well you know, I could,” Wanda said, placing a hand on Steve’s broad shoulder, “but that would be a violation of company policy and everyone has been telling me to be more responsible lately, so I’m gonna take the high road on this one.” Oh. Steve’s face fell. He had been so close, and it had all fallen through his fingers.

Seemingly, Steve taking the bait had been what Wanda wanted because at that she pulled out another cigarette, lit it, and ducked back into her place between the dumpsters, “Don’t worry Mr. Rogers, you can go get in line and wait like everyone else, but you’d better go now, from what I’ve seen it’s all the way back at the entrance to Nordstrom.”

“Nordstrom?” Steve looked across the parking lot and, sure enough, a line had formed along the outside wall of the building, spanning almost the entire northern side of the mall and ending, as expected, at the opposite corner where Nordstrom was situated. “Shit,” he started rushing towards the line.

“Are you just going to leave your car in the loading dock?” Wanda yelled after him, but the car was the least of Steve’s worries anymore.

“Let them tow it!” He shouted back, frantically searching his pockets for a possible bribe and trying to figure out how he could possibly overcome this obstacle. 

Wanda Maximoff, 17 and extremely tired of adults trying to take advantage of her, was pretty proud of her work. Taking a long drag off her cigarette, she watched her former teacher rush off into the distance. If she had a conscience she would probably feel pretty bad for him, especially after everything he had been through in the past year, but she didn’t, so she simply enjoyed the view instead. The snow had stopped falling entirely but still covered the world in a thick blanket of white. Absentmindedly, she shouted ‘Merry Christmas’ in Steve’s general direction but he didn’t hear her. 

“Wanda!” 

Fuck. There goes the rest of her break before work.

“Wanda, the very nice man dropping off the Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls is calling.” With all the flourish a 40 year old man running a toy store could muster, Peter Quill burst through the employee exit of ToyZone, waving his right hand around while holding a phone to his ear with the other. Peter was, to say the very least, a very special member of the Hatchetfield community, and all people managed to say about him was the very least, so we’ll leave it at that. How he managed to run a successful business was one of the great secrets of Hatchetfield that no man or woman had ever found the answer to. Dressed smartly in his bright red ToyZone polo and santa hat, he looked a bit like a young, alcoholic Santa Claus. “Can you tell me why he’s telling me there's a car in his loading dock?”

Double fuck. Sure enough, when Wanda looked across the alley a small, UPS style truck was stalled. It’s driver, a lanky, greasy haired man, waved at her. “Uh,” Wanda said, turning to Peter and dropping her cigarette into the snow at her feet, “Well, it looks like there’s a car in the loading dock. Isn’t that funny,” He wasn’t amused.

“How did it get there?”

“How should I know?” Wanda said, making her way towards the entrance of the building, “it’s not my car.”

“Tell me Wanda, how are we supposed to get our big ticket item into the store if this nice man can’t legally park his truck to get them out of the back?” Peter’s patronizing voice made Wanda want to vomit, but he was right, without the dolls their entire Black Friday sales plan would be fucked. Looking down at her phone, she realized they were only 10 minutes from opening. This was, very, very bad, a situation that could even warrant a coveted triple fuck from Wanda. 

“I dunno, could he park across the street?”

A terrible rendition of _The First Noel_ , an announcement about delaying ToyZone’s opening, and a trip across the street later, Wanda, Peter, and the greasy delivery man had finally wheeled all 3 dollies worth of Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls into the back of the store. The delivery guy, who Wanda was 99% sure she had seen somewhere before, finally brought out his packing slip with a smile and handed it to Peter.

“These little furry assholes are going to make me so much money,” Peter muttered under his breath, taking the small clipboard, “Christmas in Waikiki, here I come… Wanda, do you know why they call it Black Friday?” The question sat in the air for a second. Wanda had no clue, but also couldn’t care less about the origins of a bank holiday. For all she cared, it could’ve been a day where the sky was foretold to go black and the sea was foreseen to boil. What did matter, though, was that Peter Quill wrote her paychecks, so keeping him happy mattered a little more than her pride.

“Is it because it comes after Thursday?” Damn, that came out a little more sarcastic than Wanda had planned, earning her a dirty look from her boss and surprisingly also from the delivery guy.

“Cute, but no,” Peter’s annoyance was forgotten a moment later when he launched himself into a speech, “It’s called Black Friday because it’s the day where most American businesses go from being in the red, that’s losing money, to being in the black,” he paused for dramatic effect, “making money.” Peter Quill was the kind of man who loved to hear the sound of his own voice, unfortunately for him, nobody else did. The only thing that kept Wanda from laughing at his theatrics was the risk of losing her job. That wouldn’t matter for long though.

“Well my friend,” the delivery man chimed in, saving Wanda from having to reply, although unintentionally. Something about the way he smiled sent a shiver through her spine. “I have a feeling that these wonderful toys will take you so far into the black that you never come back.” Peter and this strange, unnerving man locked eyes for a moment, enveloped in an awkward silence, before bursting into a fit of odd, disjointed laughter. Peter seemed genuinely amused but this greasy, green eyed man looked like he was laughing at an entirely different joke. Wanda had an urge to get as far away from him as she could, but propriety demanded that she stayed staunch and didn’t ruffle her boss’s feathers.

“I sure hope so,” Peter said jovially, patting the man’s shoulder.

“I assure you sir, you are going to make a killing,” His voice was overly formal, his phrases elegant but clipped. “That is a Trickster Toys guarantee,” He seemed to be a man raised for a different life, one not filled with petty retail and driving trucks. Even the way he carried himself seemed uppity. Wanda half expected him to continue chatting with them, but as soon as he had his clipboard in hand he walked to the exit without another word. Only a moment before he exited did he pause again, looking Wanda up and down and smirking. “Well, well, well… hello, naughty list,” he hissed under his breath. Before she even had a chance to respond, he was out the door and out of sight.

“Fuckin’ gross,” Wanda felt dirty, like some of the grease from that strange man’s hair had somehow found it’s way onto her body. “Did you hear that? I should sue for sexual harassment…” 

Peter couldn’t have cared less. “Wanda, I don’t want to bother you,” he called from his place next to the large boxes, “but do you think you could actually get to work? I mean this is the most important shift of your life! How often do you get to work on the holiest day in the American calendar year?” His reverence for Black Friday was really starting to piss Wanda off.

“Well if it’s a holy day do I get holiday pay?” 

Peter’s grin fell. He loved three things in this world; 80’s music, his ex-wife, and money. So when a teenage brat started to get in the way of him making it, all bets were off. “You know kid, you’ve got to start working on that attitude problem. I’m the captain of this metaphorical ship, so you’d better start to listen to me when I tell you what you need to do. You’re terrible with customers, your pothead boyfriend is always hanging around… you’d think a girl like you, a highschool dropout with a criminal record that I didn’t need to employ here, would show me some appreciation.” 

His voice was a dull roar, the kind of voice you hear from your dad when you spill a milkshake all over the inside of his newly refurbished 69’ Chevy Camaro. He didn’t stop there, though, taking a step towards Wanda and standing as tall as he could. “It’s almost like you want to end up like your mother. It’s not all your fault, I know, I can’t imagine she’s very good with taking care of kids, especially after what happened to your little brother. She obviously hasn’t done a whole lot better with you though, even if she didn’t let you drown in a swimming pool,”

“That’s enough, Mr. Quill,” Wanda snapped, turning her back and blinking away tears, “do you want me to unload these goddamn dolls or not?” Peter just huffed as he walked towards his office.

“That would be nice, since we’re already opening a half hour late! I would hope that after that long a wait, our best seller would be on the shelves when we finally open!”

“Fine!”

“Great! Thank you!”

They were like petulant children fighting over who got to play with a favored toy, but if one child had the power to ruin the other child’s life. Peter was halfway to his door before turning around again. “Oh, and Wanda?”

“Yes, Mr. Quill,” she spat through gritted teeth.

“Do you have something to say to me? The kind of thing a polite young lady would say?” 

Wanda wanted nothing more that to wipe the smile off his stupid face, but took a deep breath instead. “Thank you,”

That wasn’t good enough, and Peter tutted her, with his shit eating grin still plastered in place. “No, Wanda, I know you didn’t do well in English class but please try to keep up. I said thank you, so you say…”

“You’re welcome,” If Wanda had a dollar for each way she imagined killing Peter Quill in that moment, she wouldn’t be living in a trailer park. 

“She can be taught!” And then Peter disappeared into his office, muttering a twisted, capitalist version of _Hark, The Herald Angels Sing_. Alone in the back room, Wanda wanted to scream, or hit someone, or both, but it wasn’t worth it. She was getting her paycheck after work, and then she’d be scott free. It was only 6 more hours of torture, 6 more hours of Hatchetfield, 6 more hours of Peter Quill, and then she was western bound. 

“We’ll see who needs to learn by the end of the day,” Wanda said, picking up a box cutter from a nearby workstation and opening the first box of dolls. Brushing away the top layer of packing peanuts, she got her first look at the toy that was taking America by storm. It was boxed in clear plastic, with the ugliest purple face she had ever seen and massive, disproportionate fists. At the center of the box was a hole, touting the fact that Tickle-Me-Thanos had 150 unique phrases, all accessible with a simple touch to his round, flocked tummy. 

Despite her initial revulsion, though, the longer Wanda looked at the little creature the more intrigued she became, lifting the box from it’s packing peanut cradle and holding it, almost reverently, in the light. “Hey Thanos,” she whispered, almost in awe, “I’m Wanda. You’re the one who’s been causing all this fuss, huh?” 

“Tickle my belly-welly,” It’s voice was deep and gruff but it’s words were sweet and childish. Wanda was amazed at it’s craftsmanship and make-up. She hadn’t even used the button on the doll and it had reacted to her, speaking to her, choosing her.

“You’re so cute,” she cooed, stepping back from the large box and focusing entirely on the doll in her hands. The urge to tickle the doll was overwhelming, so much so that she didn’t even notice she had already started to do it without thinking about it. Her finger was stuck through the hole in the plastic, rubbing the toy’s plush fur and eliciting a series of deep giggles from it’s speaker. It was funny, the doll’s voice didn’t sound grainy like many other toys, it was almost like he had a voice of his own coming from inside of him.

“That tickles,” the doll gurgled, “I think we’re going to become best friendy-wends,”

“Yeah Thanos,” Wanda’s entire world revolved around the doll in her hands at that moment, “I think so too,” She turned sharply, crossing the room to the staff lunch table where her backpack was sitting and opening it quickly, “I think you’re gonna help me out more than you know,” She had managed to shove the box halfway into the bag when she suddenly heard a voice.

“Halt,”

Wanda was completely and entirely fucked.

“Security! We’ve got a shoplifter! Drop that doll,”

She contemplated running, but knew she wouldn’t get far. The metal security grating was still covering the store’s main entrance and the only other exit was the staff only door, which was directly behind where she heard the voice come from. Wanda knew when she was outmanned, so she turned around in defeat, only to see her blond-headed boyfriend standing feet away from her, covered in fresh snow and pointing in her direction. “Jesus fucking Christ Vis, you scared me!” Wanda shrieked, running into his arms and receiving a warm hug.

Paul ‘Vision’ Valentine was somewhere between a tough guy and a sensitive emo on the teen behavioral spectrum. Dressed from head to toe in black denim, chains, and leather, he was definitely more feared than loved by the people around him at school, but he used it to his advantage. Nobody quite knew how he got his nickname, but everybody did know that if you called him Paul you were in for a one way ticket to pound town. He was different with Wanda though, sensitive and thoughtful. They were usually inseparable. If only 2% of high school relationships ended up in lasting marriages, they were firmly a part of that 2%.

“You’re such an asshole,” Wanda mumbled into his chest, smiling from ear to ear. Her moment with the Tickle-Me-Thanos doll was long forgotten now that Vis was there next to her. After a moment he pulled away, ruffling her hair.

“What? It was just a little joke,” He made himself comfortable on one of the folding chairs lining the lunch table, straddling the back and gazing up at Wanda as she started to pace the length of the room.

“Did you pick Peter up from my mom’s place?” Wanda asked, shoving the corner of the doll’s box into her bag, zipping it up, and turning to Vision, who now wore a slightly concerned expression. 

“Oh shit, Peter?” Wanda looked at him, full of panic, “Is that what you’ve been telling me to do every day for the last four weeks? To pick up your little brother? Oh, I must’ve forgot cause I’m so stupid,” with that he swept her up into another tight embrace, tapping the tip of her nose playfully with his finger. Her anxiety disappeared then, and she admitted to herself that it was a little silly to think he’d forget about Peter with all their planning they’d done. Smiling once again, she leaned into his touch.

“He’s in the car, it’s been a really bad day today so he’s being sort of a snot.” Vision loosened his grip on Wanda, walking to the door and doing a mockery of a salute in Wanda’s direction. “Good luck trying to get him to go along with the plan, but if anybody can do it, you can.” He disappeared for a moment out into the cold, returning shortly with a snow covered and very upset Peter.

Peter Maximoff, born Parker, had seen more than a 10 year old kid should ever see. Fostered with his twin brother Pietro by Wanda’s mother at 4 and adopted soon after, his early childhood days were nothing to desire. Then, as the icing on the cake, he’d almost drowned with his twin brother at 9 years old. Losing his twin and also enduring a traumatic experience had left Peter timid on good days and mute on bad ones. Very little was able to bring the kid out of his shell and luckily Wanda and Vision were a part of that short list. Wanda would die to protect that kid, but with the way things were going now it was beginning to look like she wouldn’t have to. 

When they entered, Vision was pulling him along by his wrist, albeit gently. “Come on kid, do I have to put a leash on you like a dog or my cousin James?” Vision grumbled while leading Peter to his sister. She wasn’t pleased.

“Don’t drag him Vis,” she snapped, causing Vision to drop Peter’s wrist. Peter, who had his hands stuffed deep into the pockets of his red jacket, was staring at the floor and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, constantly. It was as if he wasn’t fully aware of where he was or why he was there.

Wanda noticed and led her brother to a nearby chair, sitting him down and crouching to his level. “Hey Petey,” she said as comfortingly as she could, taking one of his small hands into her own and rubbing her thumb over his knuckles in the hopes of calming him down, “is today a good day or a bad day?”

“It’s a bad day,” Peter mumbled, barely a whisper. Surprisingly, Wanda was more than happy with his response, glad that he’d spoken at all, and in a full sentence no less. 

“Well, who said that? I heard today is going to be a good day. You know my backpack, the one with the pins?” She gestured to the bag, which was sitting on another chair to her right. “Vis can you grab it for me, please? Well Peter, today you’re gonna get to wear it! Isn’t that exciting?” With the backpack now in hand, Wanda attempted to offer it to Peter but he rejected it entirely, turning his body away from hers and shaking his head vigorously.

“See what I meant?” Vision said from across the room, looking through the staff refrigerator for something to eat that he thought nobody would miss, “it’s been like this all day,” Wanda shot him a withering glare that shut him up. His pessimism was not going to help her get Peter to hold the backpack, and if that didn’t work out the entire plan would fall apart. 

“Why don’t you want to wear my backpack Peter? What’s wrong with it? Do you not like the pins?” She desperately tried to figure out how to salvage Peter’s mood, but when he turned back around she realized that wasn’t going to happen without a miracle.

“I’m not supposed to wear your backpack today,” Peter said, more firmly than he had before. That made Wanda upset. If her mother had tried to drive a wedge between Peter and her again, there was very little that would keep Wanda from going berserk at this point. The camel’s back had broken a long time ago, but she didn’t have anything she could do about it until now. 

“Who said that? Was it mom, because you know she lies a lot. I promise it’s ok Peter.”

“No, Deadpool told me.” 

“Oh great,” Vision was now eating a sliced egg sandwich labeled ‘Quill’, “now we’re taking directions from the imaginary superhero in Peter’s head?”

“He’s not imaginary!” Peter shot back, curling his hands into first before crossing his arms angrily, “Deadpool says you’re a piss-drinker, and that you deserved to die in the infinity war, whatever that means.” 

Wanda sat still for a second, mouth agape, but then jumped in, “Guys, let’s not fight. What did Deadpool say? Why can’t you wear my backpack?” 

Peter looked entranced for a minute and then looked her dead in the eyes. Ever since the accident, he had avoided all eye contact, but now he was fully present and locked in, refusing to look away. “Bad blood…” he whispered, “Thunder... black and white…” There was a long, drawn out pause between each phrase, as if he was thinking deeply. Wanda and Vision were deeply confused. 

“Wanda, can you translate? I don’t speak crazy,” Vision said, mouth full of the last few bites of sandwich. Wanda gasped, walking over to him.

“Peter is not crazy, don’t call him crazy, he’s just… creative,” Wanda pinched the bridge of her nose, trying to formulate the best course of action forward while Peter went silent and still again, staring daggers at the backpack now sitting at his feet. “What do we do now? There’s no way you’ll make it through the mall wearing the backpack without security tailing you the whole way. They know you here Vis, we can’t risk losing that doll.”

“Don’t worry babe, I’ve got this,” For once in his life, Vision actually did have a good idea. He removed a slightly crushed baseball hat from his back pocket, approaching Peter quietly and sitting down on the chair next time him. Sitting silently, Vision appeared as if he was torn, looking back and forth between Peter and the baseball cap before sighing and settling on Peter’s face. “Alright Petey boy, see this hat?” Peter nodded, looking shyly at the cap in Vision’s hands, “It was gifted to me by a great warrior.” 

In the background, Wanda almost lost in, but held in the laughter. Vision slowly looked back at her, face as serious and straight as possible, “Don’t you fuckin’ laugh,” he said, staring at her until she regained her composure and nodded staunchly. Thankfully, Peter was still under the hat’s spell. “This baseball cap is imbued with the power of, uh… Greyskull, to ward off dark magic, bad blood, backpacks, any fuckin’ thing that could possibly hurt you.”

Peter, surprisingly, was enraptured by the performance. “Really? You promise that if I wear the hat I can’t get hurt?”

Vision nodded, handing the hat off to Peter and standing up. “I’ll lend you this hat, just for today, but I promise it’ll keep you protected kid, cross my heart and hope to die.” Peter, slowly but surely, put the hat on his head and smiled, tugging down the brim. Then, he picked the backpack up off the floor and put in on his back, only shuddering slightly once the weight was firmly on his shoulders. When Vision walked back over to Wanda, he was smirking, “I’d make a great dad, I’m just saying,” He said, wrapping an arm around Wanda’s shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, maybe if everything today goes according to plan I’ll think about it.” She responded, looking at Peter as he fiddled with a gum wrapper he’d found in his pocket. “You just need to watch him until I get off at one, then I’ll grab my paycheck and we’re leaving this hellhole for good. Is everything set up with the buyer?” 

Vision’s face went serious again and he brought his arm back down to his side, eyes flicking around the room conspiratorially. “Actually, there’s been a slight change of plans,”

“Oh god, what happened?”

“No no no, it’s a good change. Originally I know we talked about five, but word gets around, and before I know it there’s a bidding war for this doll. Now we have someone offering seven. I figured I’d take the deal without asking you first.” 

Wanda froze in awe. “Seven hundred dollars for a stupid doll?”

Vision cut her off, bringing his pointer finger to her lips to silence her before lowering it. “No, they’re offering seven thousand.”

Wanda blinked, still frozen. She blinked again. Vision's expression of pride didn’t change. Slowly, the truth sunk in. They had gotten a bid on their stolen Tickle-Me-Thanos for seven thousand dollars in cash, which would be more than enough combined with their savings to send them straight towards their destination. She couldn’t help but shriek in girlish delight. This was better than any Christmas present she had ever received.

“Seven thousand dollars?” She checked, Vision nodding his head, “seven fucking thousand dollars? Do you know what this means Peter?”

Even Peter was smiling. “We’re going to California?”

“Yeah Petey, we’re going to Cali-fuckin’-fornia! Where it never rains, the ocean is right next door, and mom will never be able to hurt us again.” Wanda ran to her brother, sweeping him up into a tight hug as tears started to run down his face. For her whole life her mother had stepped on her and used her as a means to an end. Well now that alcoholic druggie bitch was in the rear view mirror, all that remained ahead were blue skies and the open road.

Behind her, Vision was leaning against a shelf full of backstock. He knew that he’d have his moment with Wanda sooner or later, so he watched as she wiped away Peter’s tears and waited to be acknowledged. Soon enough, Wanda let go of her brother and walked to Vision’s side. 

“Do you think we’ll have enough money saved up for an actual apartment instead of a motel room?” She asked. Vision patted her back reassuringly.

“Once we get that seven thousand in the bank? Definitely. When we get there I can pick up a couple jobs and you can get a jumpstart on your acting career.” Wanda looked happy enough that she could cry, clinging to the lapels of his leather jacket. Suddenly, though, she pulled away. “What’s wrong Wanda?”

“I need to write a note to mom. I doubt she’d care if I didn’t, but I want to make it clear that she is not welcome in our new lives.” Wanda rushed around for a minute before finding a pen and a notepad, sitting down to scrawl her goodbye.

 _Dear mom,_ she wrote, with all the vitriol and incivility someone could express through writing, _it’s been real… real bad. I’d say you did your best with me and Peter but I’m not a liar._

“L-I-E-R, babe,” Vision corrected, putting a hand on Wanda’s shoulder.

“I get it Vis, you’re a good speller,” she put a large black strike through the word, replacing it with Vision’s spelling, “Thanks,”

 _I know your not gonna want to find us, but if you do, don’t. If I wanted you to find us I would’ve left a adress. Don’t call us, don’t text us, and don’t write us. Sinserely, Wanda and Peter and Vision._ Wanda seemed pleased with her work, but went back for one last sentence. _P.S. you should buy a new trailer, cause yours is broke. as. shit._ As an extra fuck-you, Wanda kissed the bottom of the letter, leaving a smear of red lipstick across the bottom edge. For the first time since she was born she felt free, all she could hope for, though, was that Peter felt the same way.

Suddenly, as she stood, Vision swept her into a kiss, biting hungrily at her lips. Wanda was more than happy to comply, wrapping her hands around Vision’s body and pulling his chest flush with hers. Vying for dominance and lost in their victory, they only pulled away from each other when they were desperate for air, faces flushed a deep red. Wanda’s lipstick had smudged all along Vision’s lips, painting them a gaudy crimson perfect for the Christmas season. 

“Alright Peter,” she said, wiping her mouth with her sleeve and turning to her brother, who had conveniently decided he wanted to study the floor instead of his sister sucking face with her boyfriend. “I need you to go with Vis until I get off work, maybe you guys could go see a movie down at the Cineplex?” 

Vision too was wiping his mouth, attempting to wipe away the lipstick but only managing to smear it worse. “Well, the first stop is going to be the bathroom so I can wash my face,” he joked, before walking to Peter and taking his hand. On their way past Wanda, Vision managed to give her one more peck on the lips before saying “Only a few more hours, and then we’ll be out of Hatchetfield and headed to the future.” He and Peter disappeared out the door then, into the back alley. 

Finally donning her red ToyZone vest, which had been sitting on it’s hook against the wall, Wanda got to work unpacking the rest of the Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls while counting the minutes on the clock. 20 minutes till opening, 5 hours and 20 minutes until she could get her paycheck and quit, and 7 hours until they’d make it over the Nantucket bridge, cash in hand, headed towards a new life. Only one of those times would turn out to be true in the end, but unknowing of her fate, Wanda worked, hurtling towards inevitable doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New update schedule! I’ve been writing much faster than I thought I would be able to, so this work will now update on Sundays and Wednesdays in the evening. In the next chapter we’ll be introduced to most of the rest of our cast, so lets get excited! Thanks to everyone who’s left comments and kudos, it’s made me so happy to see other people as excited for this story as I am. As always, constructive criticism and comments are more than welcome.
> 
> Also, a big thank you to poe_damnson, who has taken on the task of beta-reading for me! They’re a big part of why I’m able to do two chapter’s a week, so I’m extremely grateful for their help.


	3. Chapter 3

In small towns like Hatchetfield there were very specific hierarchies of society that people fell into. There were no grey areas, you were either important, mildly interesting or unimportant. The unimportant people were the poor and middle class. Though there was little to no homeless population in Hatchetfield, there were plenty of people struggling to get by living in trailer parks or low income housing, Wanda being a perfect example. Funnily enough, there was exactly one homeless man panhandling in Hatchetfield. Nobody knew his name or where he was from, but nobody would be caught dead passing him by without dropping a couple dollars into his can. Some people speculated that he wasn’t actually homeless and that he simply crossed the bridge from Clivesdale every day for easy money, but that’s not quite important to our story. Anyways, the unimportant people were mostly left to their own devices and seldom brought up in conversation. In the eyes of the higher ups, they were a dark spot in an otherwise pristine community, so it was better to pretend they didn’t exist at all than accept their imperfection into the fold.

Second on the pyramid were mildly interesting people. These citizens were the ones talked about in grocery lines and across dinner tables, people who had lives entertaining enough to serve as cannon fodder to the important. Tom was someone mildly interesting, with a life so filled with tragedy it was extremely difficult to go to a church potluck or community meeting without someone bringing up the latest bump in his metaphorical roads. They were accepted into the homes and hearts of the interesting folks as long as they continued to provide something taboo to talk about. 

Then, reigning supreme, were the important people, also known as the rich. These were the local legislators, professors, and heirs of the area, making up a large percentage of the population simply because waterfront property on a small, tight knit island surrounded by forest was expensive as fuck. Dining on hors d'oeuvres and dominating local culture, the rich and important were the glue that held Hatchetfield together. Anthony E. Stark was a proud member of that glue.

Stepping out of his chauffeured car at the curbside at 7:25 sharp, Tony was suddenly the center of everyone present’s attention. He wasn't unused to being the center of the universe in public though, because as the proud owner of one of the two limousines on the island he wasn’t someone afraid to be remembered. In fact, he cherished the idea that at any given moment, most of the people around him would bend to his whim. 

Completely underdressed for the weather, he donned a dark purple Gucci snakeskin suit with a pair of gilded Prada sunglasses, black leather heeled boots, and a matching black mink hat and stole. Nobody dared mention his outfit, no matter how ridiculous it looked, because his wife was far too powerful in the community to risk pushback. Instead, the crowd who had been entering the mall in a steady stream simply stood transfixed as Tony walked in like he owned the place. For all they knew, he might.

Once inside, Tony quickly located the line snaking its way around the mall from ToyZone. He had planned his entrance exactly. The mall was opening its doors to the public at 7:20 and opening its businesses themselves 10 minutes later, so he figured if he arrived at 7:25 he could locate the line and bribe his way to the front in no time. Frustratingly, though, as he made his way closer to the store the overhead speaker system crackled to life.

_ “Dear ToyZone shoppers,”  _ an overly cheery voice, probably the manager’s, rang out through the cavernous space,  _ “we regret to inform you that there will be an hour long delay before the store is opened. We apologize for any inconvenience! Just remember, ToyZone is the only vendor on the island selling the new Tickle-Me-Thanos doll and all it’s accessories, which are first come first serve! Thank you for your patronage.”  _ The message ended with a click, leaving the entire line groaning in displeasure. Tony was just about ready to throw a fit himself.

Without a second thought he called up Jarvis, his personal chauffeur and nanny, in a tizzy. “Jarvis?” He said, still walking at a brisk clip, passing the rest of the line nonchalantly, “you will never believe what’s happening in this place! They said they’re delaying the opening by a whole hour.” A pause, then, “Of course you should call my lawyer, this is unacceptable!” Soon, ToyZone’s storefront was within sight, gleaming in the fluorescent light, and so was the beginning of the line. 

Tony smiled, delighted that none of his neighbors or his wife’s political allies were at the front of the line waiting to thwart his plan, but then he paused as Jarvis’s voice came through the phone. “No, Jarvis, you can’t come inside… you know why not! You’re not allowed within a thousand feet of a Cinnabon Jarvis, and if you’re truly calling my lawyer like I asked you to we don’t need you breaking any restraining orders while he’s around.” Finally at the head of the line he paused, taking in Jarvis’ well thought out response before cutting him off, “Just keep the car running for me, this shouldn’t take very long at all,”

With that he placed his phone in his pocket, leaving the call running just in case any of his interactions would need to be recorded for a future court date. Most of the people around recognized Tony instantly, regarding him with appropriate levels of awe or disgust, but he barely knew a soul. There were a whole lot of nobodies at the front of the line and very few somebodies, with the few somebodies being people he didn’t particularly care deeply about.

About 10 people back stood Scott Lang, a man who had recently lost his factory job and with it what little social standing he had, and directly in front of him was Bruce Banner, Tony’s lawyer. Everybody else didn’t matter with the exception of the very first person in line. Arnim Zola was a town legend, an old pervert who just never seemed to understand the fact that nobody liked him and everyone wanted him to move far, far away. Funny enough, he had held the position of janitor at the elementary school since he turned 19, and how anybody had allowed that to continue Tony didn’t know. What he did know, though, was that Arnim had provided him and his wife with many nights of dinner time banter, so he wasn’t worth cutting in line. Instead, Tony chose the second person, a sheepish brown-haired man bundled up in a knitted sweater and scarf, approaching warmly.

“Hello, what’s your name sir?” Tony asked, holding out a leather-gloved hand.

The man took it, shaking firmly and smiling back at Tony with a face that screamed  _ I have no clue who you are _ . “Bobby, Bobby Drake.”

“Bobby,” Tony chortled, “what do scissors do?” He made a snipping motion with his fingers, still smiling at Bobby as he attempted to work out just what the hell this crazy rich guy meant. His face filled with confusion for a moment, but Bobby realized the implications very soon after. Tony, sure of his superiority and knowing his chances of success were still high, continued. 

“I’m Tony Stark, the president of the Hatchetfield Board of Science and Industry. You may know my wife, Pepper Potts, the city’s treasurer and the head doctor at Inner Beauty Rhinoplasty?” Realization dawned on poor Bobby’s face a little too late. “I was wondering if you would be kind enough to let me slide in front of you.” Tony peered out from behind his sunglasses, charming and deadly all at once.

Bobby considered for a moment, but settled on a big fat no. “Sorry man, I’ve been waiting in line all night. I don’t care how rich you are, that doesn’t mean you get special privileges everywhere you go… wait what are you doing?”

Tony had pulled his large, leather-bound checkbook out of his pants pocket and was busy writing Bobby’s name down on the recipient line. “Don’t mind me,” Tony said, busying himself, “I’m just compensating you for your time. I really appreciate you saving my stop here,”

With one more glance at the check, Bobby stepped aside, smiling brightly. “Anything for you Mr. Stark! Merry Christmas!” Tony simply gleamed, taking his newly purchased spot in line and handing the check over.

“No Bobby, Merry Christmas to  _ you _ . Your sacrifice is going to make some kids very, very happy this year.” With that, Tony heard a muffled sound from his pocket and pulled his phone, going back to his prior conversation. “No Jarvis, you can’t run across the street.”

“Excuse me,” a gruff voice called out from behind him, but Tony didn’t pay it any attention.

“I don’t care if Harley has to pee, he’s 15, he can hold it,”

“Excuse me!” The voice was louder now, more demanding.

Tony paused, looking over his shoulder to see who was causing a fuss. “What? I’m sorry if you want compensation too, but Bobby here was specifically working for me by saving my place in line.” Tony’s eyes searched and found that directly behind the utterly uninteresting Bobby was a tall, broad shouldered man dressed in a thick puffer jacket and green scrubs. At a second glance Tony noticed his unshaven face and shoulder length brown hair. Only at a very close third examination did Tony notice the man’s prosthetic arm and realise this wasn’t just another poor member of the rabble, he was one of the most interesting people in Hatchetfield to date! There, just a few feet away from Tony Stark, stood Bucky Barnes, and he seemed angry as hell.

“Oh my god,” Tony exclaimed into the phone, locking eyes with a man who’d taken up a good portion of his coffee table gossip since high school and taking off his sunglasses, “Jarvis, hold on, Bucky Barnes is behind me in line and he’s demanding my attention… of course you should tell my lawyer! Since when have I ever not gotten Bruce involved!” Tony put his phone back in his pocket and turned, facing the now red faced amputee. “You can keep going now, just know that my lawyer will be listening.”

“For one,” Bucky said, looking Tony directly in the eye, “I know your lawyer is listening, Tony, he’s literally standing behind us in line. Secondly, you can’t just walk in here and cut in line. Everyone else has been waiting all night, so get your ass to the back.” 

Tony laughed, patting the checkbook which had been safely returned to his pocket. “Bucky, I don’t know if you lost your eyes like you lost your arm, but everyone else here saw that I bought this spot fair and square.” Bobby quickly came to his defense.

“It’s alright man, I’ve been saving his spot all night, don’t worry about it.” It was amazing, Tony though wistfully, what money could do. Bucky, unfortunately for Tony, was still not convinced.

“You’re telling me you intended to save a spot for this asshole? That’s weird, because I remember you telling him to kindly fuck off before he opened his wallet.” Bucky looked at Bobby in that moment as if he was looking into his soul and judging it’s immortal weight. To say that Bobby started getting nervous would be an understatement. Bucky went on, “I’m pretty sure the mall cops wouldn’t take it too kindly if I told them you’d taken a bribe and fucked over hundreds of other paying customers.”

Bobby looked down at his check thoughtfully, but Tony swooped in, patting him on the back and saying “Don’t worry, there’s enough in my bank account to compensate them too.” After that, Bobby didn’t look quite so remorseful.

“Come on, is that money really more important than everybody behind you? Is Tony Stark really allowed to screw all of them over just because he can pay and they all can’t? What if one of your neighbor’s is the one who gets snubbed and it ruins Christmas for their kids? Are you truly ready to face the consequences of your choice? I mean, it’s up to you, but to me money is way less important than keeping this whole thing fair.”

“Dude,” Bobby’s voice was hushed now, pleading, “It’s only one less doll. I’m sure that isn’t going to make that much of a difference in the end.”

“One?” Tony’s boisterous voice rang out over Bobby’s subdued one as he laughed, clutching his side. “You’re kidding, right? I don’t just need one doll, I need four. I have four beautiful little kids waiting for me at home, and each of them needs their own Tickle-Me-Thanos. They aren’t going to share one like little junkie children share needles,” 

At that, Bucky huffed out an annoyed laugh of his own. “Bullshit,” he huffed, talking to nobody in particular, “you oldest kid is 16 and a boy, isn’t that a little old for dolls,”

“I heard that,” Tony snapped back, gesturing to his pocket and eliciting a long sigh from Bucky, “and I’ll make sure my lawyers do too.”

“Oh, can it, Tony. Do you really think that your kids are so much better than everybody else’s?” He shouted, gesturing back at the rest of the disgusting poor people behind him. Tony was extremely sure of his answer, especially after taking a better look at the average kind of citizen standing in line.

“To be totally honest, yes!” Tony was loud enough now that most of the people in the vicinity were now aware of their perceived place in the world. There was a minor uproar as parents hurled obscenities at Tony, but he remained unphased, looking at Bucky smugly. “You know what Bucky Barnes, 10 minutes ago I would’ve hoped that you got one of these dolls but now? I hope you don’t get a Thanos. Actually, I hope you fucking die.” There was an odd, frank nature in the way Tony called for Bucky’s death that confused him more than he could say, but he bit down on his tongue and simply regarded his rich assailant with as little respect as possible, which wasn’t very difficult.

“What are you even doing here anyway?” Tony asked, waving his hand in Bucky’s general direction. “You don’t even have any kids, thank god, not that it’s possible based on your… peculiarities.” The last part of his sentence was said under his breath as he turned away, attempting to end the conversation, but Bucky wasn’t willing to back down without a fight.

“Actually, Tony, I’d love to tell you why I’m here. It’s so funny, you’re here to hoard a limited toy for your almost grown kids, and I’m here to get a toy for a 5 year old boy at St. Damien’s pediatric hospital.” Bucky’s voice was filled with passion, sarcasm, and strangely enough something akin to love. “His name is Miles, he went blind in a recent household accident and all he wants for Christmas is a Tickle-Me-Thanos. I’m not going to sit here and let you take away other kid’s chances for a good Christmas, Tony. Just move to the back of the line.”

“Bucky, listen to me,” Tony sighed, putting his hand to his chest in a phony show of sympathy, “I understand, I really do, but all of my kids were accidents and you don't see me walking around asking for other people to solve their problems!” Bucky’s jaw dropped. He wasn’t sure if it was due to rage or disbelief at Tony Stark’s total idiocy but he couldn’t manage to get a single word out for a good minute and a half, just gawking at Tony’s triumphant face. When he was no longer stupefied, Bucky instead turned to Bobby, who was attempting to remove himself mentally from the situation without doing so physically and losing his place in line.

“Bobby, right?” 

Bobby nodded.

“I know this isn’t an easy choice, especially in this economy, but if I were you I’d rip that check in half and tell that asshole to leave the line.” Bobby looked at him like he’d asked him to shoot a puppy. “I know it seems really stupid, but do you really think this dickhead deserves to get what he wants? There are loads of other working class people in this line that would be really grateful, I’m sure. Right, guys?” With that, Bucky turned around, attempting to incite the crowd into action, “Wouldn’t it be great if he ripped up the check as a big fuck you to Tony Stark, the asshole who cut the line.”

Nobody spoke or rallied or cheered. In fact, you probably could’ve heard a pin drop in that crowd, which was quite a feat, especially on a day as hectic as Black Friday. Bucky grumbled to himself, “I’m so disappointed in people these days,”

Suddenly, a voice shouted from a few people behind. Bucky was ready to have his faith in humanity restored, but instead the man asked, “if you’re giving up the check can I have it? I’d let Mr. Stark cut in front of me, ” 

Bobby snapped back immediately, “No, it’s my check!” Then he turned to Bucky again, pissed. “Come on man, this check is gonna pay all my bills for two months, plus give me a little extra padding for christmas gifts. Just shut up and let it slide, please.”

Tony, who was watching this entire interaction play out, was absolutely tickled pink. “See, Bucky,” he taunted, laying a hand on Bobby’s shoulder, “this is the real Hatchetfield, not all of that rah rah, school spirit, be kind to one another bullshit that you never grew out of. I mean, isn’t all that positive attitude shit the reason you stayed with Helmut Zemo, that monster husband of yours? Well, until he got bored and ran off, that is,”

Bucky froze. An important thing to note about Hatchetfield is that because the island was so small, and the town even smaller, everybody knew everybody else's business. Each marital disagreement and family blow out might as well have been published on the front page of the Hatchetfield Tribune. Bucky was aware that his tumultuous marriage to Helmut wasn’t exactly private information, but the shock of having it mentioned in public was enough to put him out of commision for a few minutes, which was exactly Tony Stark’s intention.

“Did you really think the neighbor’s didn’t notice all the yelling coming from your house, day and night? Well, I know you knew about that because who else would’ve filed all those noise complaints,” Tony’s laughter was unsettling now, but as polite as always, “we all saw how you wore turtlenecks in the summer, and how you wore sunglasses when it was raining. Bucky, I’m sorry to have to break the news to you but everyone knew exactly what was happening to you, it’s just that nobody cared about you enough to stop it. Your failing marriage was nothing more than coffee table banter to anyone that matters.” 

Bucky’s self control was fading away bit by bit as he listened to Tony Stark publicly ripping him to shreds. No matter how many times he went through the breathing exercises his therapist recommended the rage wouldn’t stop boiling up to the surface, threatening to blow off his lid at any time. Thankfully, whatever god controlling Tony was merciful, because he paused and gave Bucky a look of honest pity, which in turn gave Bucky just enough time to calm down before the next round of ridicule. 

“If you had been born with a little more money, Bucky, I think we could’ve made great friends, but you weren’t, so you’re just like an animal in a zoo to me. It’s okay that you’re pathetic and ruining your own life bit by bit, because that’s what gives you value. Be thankful, Bucky Barnes, at least you’re not a nobody, because nothing is worse than that.”

Tony turned around then, facing ToyZone and completely ignoring Bucky, before reaching into his pocket and pulling out his phone, which was still on. “Oh, stop crying Jarvis,” he groaned, rolling his eyes, “I wasn’t even talking to you.”

Suddenly, after less than a minute passed, Bucky heard another voice coming from behind him, more franic than the others had been. 

“Hey, buddy, I’m really sorry but I’ve got like 20 dollars, do you think I could just get your spot in line?”

That was the final straw. Bucky turned around, taking a deep breath and preparing to scream as many obscenities as possible at whoever dared try to pull the exact same shit he’d chewed Tony Stark out about on him, but froze the moment he actually saw the man behind him. There, bundled up in a flannel and jacket, stood Steve Rogers. He was a very different looking man than he had the last time Bucky had seen him, now sporting a scruffy beard and a much less developed fashion sense, but he was still the same Steve nonetheless. If there was anybody Bucky didn’t expect to see cutting the line on Black Friday, it was him.

Steve himself was just as confused. He had made his way into the building at the back of the line before quickly realizing that his best bet was bribing his way into a better spot. Unfortunately for him, he only had about 20 dollars in cash to bribe people with. As he walked and walked he realized just how massive the line into ToyZone truly was, winding around the right side of the first floor and extending all the way up to the second floor, where the end of the line dwindled at the entrance to the food court. Thinking about it, he was almost certain that some of the people in line weren’t from Hatchetfield at all. It was odd, why would anybody come on to the island from the mainland to get a Thanos if there were way more toy stores and retailers available further inland.

He brushed the thought off, though, and trudged forward. Only when he was within sight of ToyZone did he start offering his money to the crowd, fervently asking each and every person standing in the line if they’d let him stand in front of them. When Steve was down to the last few people, he had almost lost hope, until suddenly Bucky Barnes was there staring at him like he’d seen a ghost. 

The pair stood there for a moment, silent and wide eyed, without being able to find the right words. It was as if they had been taken back in time, all the way back to high school, when they were absolutely inseparable. While they tried to bridge the gap, attempting to wordlessly communicate their joy, it was as if time was standing still, giving them a moment all their own. Time did not, in fact, stop. This led to them attracting quite a bit of attention from the rest of the incredibly bored crowd. If Hatchetfield citizens knew how to do one thing, it was gossip, and so gossip they did.

“What the hell is going on with those two?” Bobby asked quietly, leaning towards Tony and Zola. 

Zola was the first to respond, “The one with the long hair is Bucky Barnes, and the other guy is Steve Rogers,”

“Wait, wasn’t Rogers the star quarterback of the Hatchetfield Hornets about 15 years ago?”

“He was,” it was Tony’s turn to talk shit, and there was nothing he loved more, “and Bucky was the first male cheerleader in Hatchetfield High history. Everyone was convinced that they were… well let's just say Steve had a girlfriend but Bucky was always a little too close to Steve. I don’t have anything against gay people, but it was a shame Bucky tried to get in the way of his life.” 

Bobby looked back at the two men, still fumbling for even the most basic of greetings. “I guess I see what you mean…”

“You don’t know the half of it,” Tony was laughing now, straightening his suit and turning his nose up at the sight of Bucky and Steve, “when Steve graduated he had a little fairytale wedding with Peggy Carter, she passed in that terrible accident last Christmas, but Bucky never quite got over his high school glory days. He started dating this mainlander, Helmut Zemo, who had just moved to the island with a shit ton of money. They got married and had their problems but mostly kept to themselves until a few years ago Bucky got rushed to the emergency room. Nobody knows what happened to him, but he lost his arm in the process. Just last January, that Helmut guy ran off with a woman back to Clivesdale without even getting a divorce.”

Tony seemed entirely too pleased with himself, smirking at the two men who had finally managed to get past saying hello. Bobby, on the other hand, was still very confused. “Wait, does that mean-“

“Shhh,” Zola cut him off, “be quiet, I want to hear what they’re saying!”

Steve and Bucky, though only about a foot away, were completely unaware of the conversation happening to their right. Still stumbling, Bucky stuck out his good hand, giving Steve’s a firm shake, “Hey, Steve,” with a smile, he retracted his hand, “I don’t know if you remember me from high school but I’m Ste- I mean, you’re Steve. I’m Bucky, Bucky Rog- shit, I meant…” Bucky had never been quite so mortified in his life, but Steve didn’t notice. He was too caught up in the refreshing realization that Bucky wasn’t automatically offering condolences about his late wife.

“No, you’re Bucky Barnes! Of course I remember you,” Steve’s warm smile did a lot to calm Bucky’s frayed nerves, “How have things been for you, Buck? I haven’t seen you since graduation.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened then, and Steve became aware that Bucky wore the same, weathered smile that he did, though surely for entirely different reasons. Only then did Steve look down and notice that white silicone fingers were peeking out of Bucky’s jacket where his left hand used to be. Attempting to be polite, Steve didn’t mention it, but Bucky knew the moment Steve saw the prosthetic from the look on his face. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard all the rumors already,” Bucky muttered, pulling his jacket closed and looking intently at the tile, “life hasn’t exactly been great for me since high school.” Slowly, though, Steve reached up and placed a hand on Bucky’s shoulder, still beaming from cheek to cheek. 

“You know me and Peggy were never plugged into the rumor mill Buck, now come on, how have you been?” 

The whispers around them were growing a bit louder but Bucky, for the first time in years, couldn’t bring himself to care. In that moment, surrounded by the dregs of humanity in line for a toy at the mall, he didn’t feel quite so hopeless anymore. It was as if he truly was back in high school, standing with Steve in the lunch line while everybody stared, only this time he wasn’t afraid anymore. 

“I got married,” Bucky started, slightly proud of the way Steve’s smile faltered, “but he left me. I went to nursing school too, but when I lost my arm I couldn’t work anymore, so now I’m just a paid volunteer at Saint Damien’s. Other than that I’ve been doing fine, just like anybody else.” He casually left out the years of abuse, fear, and isolation, the weeks or months he would spend locked away in the house attempting to curb his husband’s jealousy. If Steve had to find out about that part of his life, which Bucky hoped he never would, it wouldn’t be like this. He refused to ruin the best moment he had experienced in longer than he could remember.

“Well that explains the scrubs,” Steve chuckled, running a hand through his hair, “And Bucky, you’re not just anybody else.” The conversation stalled there as Bucky’s cheeks flushed a deep pink, something he’d attribute to the chill in the air, and Steve tried to find a topic that wouldn’t be as touchy. Meanwhile, the rest of the line was still deeply invested in this new, exciting piece of gossip. Tony, it should be noted, was on the phone parroting the entire conversation to Jarvis for posterity. 

“So,” Bucky picked up the conversation once his heart stopped beating quite as fast and his face wasn’t so red, “are you shopping for your kid?”

Steve wasn’t quite ready to respond coherently, but he managed to blurt out, “No, I’m shopping for myself. I love dolls.” The silence that followed was deafening, wow he had really fucked that one up. “I was kidding,” he continued, panicked, “I don’t like dolls… well, not like that at least. I’m buying one for Sharon.” Steve stood, fully ready to be met with another awkward silence, but Bucky instead started to laugh, a deep throaty laugh he remembered from nights out on the football field.

“You know Steve, I really missed you.”

The crowd of voyeurs audibly gasped at this revelation. This, to the older members of Hatchetfield, was proof of some long lasting illicit affair between the two, torn apart by their marriages, which were both over now. Steve and Bucky were the only ones that didn’t seem affected whatsoever by the admittance, still standing together and smiling as they had been for the last 15 minutes. Any talk of cutting in line was long forgotten, water under the metaphorical bridge. Then, almost as if God pulled the strings, Wanda appeared at the front gate of ToyZone, faking a bright, cheery smile.

“Hello ToyZone shoppers,” she announced through gritted teeth, “we’re opening soon, but before we do our manager has a few things to say for legal reasons. Please give a warm Hatchetfield welcome to Peter Quill,” Wanda’s voice lacked any enthusiasm whatsoever but surprisingly the people in line started to get excited. Finally, after waiting all night in the freezing cold, they were about to get their hands on the one thing that mattered more than life itself: a Tickle-Me-Thanos doll for $49.95 plus tax. Peter Quill, regrettably, assumed the joyous shouts were for him.

“Welcome to ToyZone!” He exclaimed, unlocking the security gate and standing in front of it, hoping to receive some sort of applause. The crowd went dead silent, though, chomping at the bit for the moment they’d be allowed into the store. It was a good thing that Peter wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box, so he assumed the silence was due to awe.

“Anyone who is here for a Tickle-Me-Thanos should stay in line, because they will be available exclusively at the front desk, first come, first served. After the incident that happened in the Furby stampede of 98’ I am legally obligated to warn you that ToyZone is not liable for any deaths on the premises, but you shouldn’t worry about that! As long as everyone stays in line and plays by the rules, we shouldn’t have any problems. Now, who’s ready for Thanos?”

The shouts that rose up from the crowd were deafening. They morphed into a chant, thrumming like a heartbeat through each and every shopper, rising and falling like an odd, animalistic tide.  _ Thanos, Thanos, Thanos, ThANOS, THANOS, THANOS.  _ The noise grew unrestrained as Wanda leaned over to Peter, horrified.

“Do you really think it’s smart to let all those people into the store?” She asked, attempting to shout over the crowd, but Peter just shrugged.

“That, Wanda, is the sound of money being made. They all want a Thanos and we’re the only ones that can give it to them,” he responded nonchalantly, “as long as they know you’re in charge, they won’t bother you. The real danger is what they do to each other when they realize they might not get what they want. Welcome to Black Friday, Ms. Maximoff, the bloodbath is about to begin,”

“I’m so glad I bought pepper spray.” 

With that, Wanda and Peter stepped to the side, beckoning the line into the storefront and taking their places at the checkout counter. Not a single person moved from the line to look at other items on the shelves. They all just stared straight ahead, waiting for their turn to buy a Thanos anxiously.

On the next floor up, the delivery man was leaning on a balcony looking down at the line which had finally begun to move. Laughing, he took one more look and walked away, all while saying, “You want a bloodbath, Mr. Quill? Well a bloodbath it will be.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting interesting now! Thank you so much for reading this fic, the further I get into the story the more excited I am to share it with all of you. As always, constructive criticism and comments are more than welcome.


	4. Chapter 4

ToyZone was a larger storefront in comparison to other stores in the Hatchetfield Mall. Though nowhere near the size of the Macy’s or JCPenney, it took up about triple the space that any other average store would and never seemed to be empty. It was one of only two toy stores on the island after Toys-R-Us had closed down and it’s variety of inventory cemented it as the only one that locals would be seen dead at. The other store, which is altogether unimportant to our story, didn’t even intend to sell any Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls this holiday season. As much of a financial setback that was, it might have saved them from the greatest disaster Black Friday, and the American people as a whole, had ever seen, but I digress. The important thing to note is that ToyZone was abnormally large and could fit many, many people within it’s weaving, labyrinthian shelves.

When the metaphorical doors opened on that fateful day, and the seemingly endless line shuffled towards the front counter, Steve Rogers had a fleeting thought, passing through his stream of consciousness in almost a millisecond. Feet thumping on the freshly polished linoleum flooring, he looked around and thought to himself _I am not leaving this building without a doll._ He didn’t dwell on the desperate feeling that seared through his chest in that moment, dragging him ever closer towards Thanos, because why should he? In a moment of pure luck, he had found Bucky and wheedled himself to the front of the line without even having to bribe him with cash. There, several feet ahead of him, was the one thing that would save his relationship with Sharon. At this rate he would be driving home to her in less than half an hour, he could even humor her by letting Nat and that idiot boyfriend she brought along stay for lunch. It would take an act of God to get between him and a Thanos. Unfortunately, the only god that mattered at the moment wasn’t the one Steve saw at church.

After the shuffling had stopped and the line had halted again Steve focused intently on the front of the line, ignoring the urge he had to turn around and talk to Bucky. Things between them had always been more complicated than he would care to admit, but Bucky was still externally the same Bucky he had met all those years ago besides the missing arm. Now that Peggy was gone, it was harder to ignore the ache left behind from years without knowing his former best friend. Though he’d always loved his late wife, Steve found himself curious in that moment about what would’ve happened had she never walked into his life. Maybe then he’d have the guts to speak more than a few sentences to Bucky, hell, maybe he never would’ve abandoned him at all. 

While Steve fought a personal war in his head, Peter Quill was smiling brightly at the head of the line, Arnim Zola, preparing for a literal war to break out amongst the customers. Wanda stood unenthusiastically next to him at the gift wrapping station, gazing down at the pile of boxed Thanos dolls at her feet. It was showtime. It seems like an important time to remind everyone of the significance of Arnim Zola, and the niche he filled within the Hatchetfield social hierarchy. 

Arnim Zola was, to be frank, a creep. Local janitor and pervert, he had been living in Hatchetfield for all 64 of his years on this great green earth and he’d never considered leaving even once. Unmarried and childless, he was almost like a local cryptid or oddity, a staple of any small midwestern town. Though all of his crimes were entirely fictional, created in the rumor mill since his high school days, a common rumor that pervaded was that he secretly was a nazi, sequestering old German relics away in a shrine in his basement. He was disliked by almost every citizen of Hatchetfield but his existence was welcomed, if only because his rumored exploits were good gossip material. 

Zola was a frequent shopper at ToyZone, much to the entire town’s complete and utter embarrassment. At least twice a month he’d come in with the same 2 reusable grocery bags and purchase whatever toy was his current obsession. When ToyZone was first opened by Peter Quill’s father in the 80’s, that obsession had been collectible Care Bears. He had gone through many phases, most recently buying collectible model ponies, but it seemed that now he was utterly infatuated with the idea of owning his very own Tickle-Me-Thanos.

Peter Quill was a man who would do almost anything for money, so he stood behind that counter and smiled like his life depended on it, hoping to please his most valued customer. “Hello Mr. Zola,” he schmoozed, reaching below the counter and pulling out one of the dolls, “could I interest you in a Tickle-Me-Thanos today? If not, we have some new Giddy Up Buttercup ponies in the back,”

The moment the box hit the counter, it was as if every single pair of eyes in the line snapped directly to it, finally catching a peek of a real Tickle-Me-Thanos. Nobody mentioned it for fear of being perceived as crazy, but it almost felt like the doll had a gravitational pull, drawing each and every shopper in with his small, beady eyes that seemed to stare into your soul itself. The urge to reach out and touch it was palpable, but each and every shopper resisted, instead choosing to twiddle their thumbs and stare blankly at the fluffy purple toy. Soon enough they’d have a Thanos of their own and they’d be back to their normal, everyday lives, or so they thought. 

Zola, calm and collected as ever, pulled out his wallet and smiled at Peter with a toothy, unsettling grin. “No ponies today Peter, but I do want a Thanos. In fact, I would like all of them.”

The shoppers stood deathly still. Those close enough to hear the interaction were stunned into silence while others simply quieted in reaction to the sudden shift in the room’s mood. Peter blinked, cocking his head to the side slightly, and cleared his throat, “Wait, what?” He muttered, but Zola was already busy taking crisp hundred dollars bills out of his wallet and counting them. The line then started to descend into chaos as people began muttering to their neighbors. Nobody could really believe what was happening, did an old, balding man with no relatives and no children really just ask to buy all the dolls? “Excuse me Mr. Zola, can I call you Arnim? Well, Arnim, did I mishear you or did you just ask to buy all of them?”

“Yes,” Zola replied, still not looking up from his current task.

“You want to buy the entire stock of 850 Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls at $49.95 each?” You could almost see the dollar signs reflecting in Peter’s wide eyes, “but that would be…”

Looking up from his counting, Zola spoke, still smiling brightly, “Fourty four thousand nine hundred and ninety nine dollars after Michigan sales tax.”

If the crowd was silent before, this required an entirely new word to describe the lack of sound. People didn’t know whether this was some elaborate joke or a terrible misunderstanding, but they did know that this couldn’t be allowed to happen. All eyes were on Peter Quill now. 10 minutes before he too had been an outcast of Hatchetfield’s society, though nobody could top Zola, but now Peter had the chance to be heralded as a local hero. All he had to do was turn Arnim away and start selling to the others in line. Unfortunately, as was mentioned earlier, Peter Quill loved money above most things, and this was about to be the most lucrative day in ToyZone history if he had anything to say about it.

He turned to Wanda, still wearing his plastered-on smile, and said “Do we have enough paper to gift wrap all that, or should I offer this fine gentleman some gift bags.”

Zola responded, “Oh no, I don’t need them wrapped, they’re all just for me,” before going back to his wallet and continuing to count out his seemingly endless stacks of cash.

Tony Stark, who was a firsthand witness to all of this nonsense, couldn’t hold in his protestation any longer. “No!” He exclaimed, throwing his hands up into the air like an offended toddler, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no!” Looking around at his fellow Hatchetfield citizens, Tony flew into a sort of blind rage, stomping his feet and wailing. If that didn’t snap everyone else out of their daydreams, nothing would. “He can’t buy all the dolls! Some of us have been waiting in line forever,”

About ten people back, Scott Lang called out, “What the hell is going on up there?” Around him, others mumbled.

“I’ve got no fuckin’ clue buddy,”

“Hell if I know,”

“Quiet down, I’m trying to listen!”

Bruce Banner, a local lawyer, finally leaned over to Scott, squinting, and said “I think Arnim Zola is trying to buy all the dolls. Wait, what the fuck?” Around him, the voices of hundreds of angry middle class workers started to rise as the news made it down the line in a twisted game of telephone. Soon, even the people at the end of the line were protesting in the food court, spreading the terrible news to other shoppers throughout the mall. This was the most upsetting thing that had happened to Hatchetfield since the Starlight Theater had burned down the year before, killing the entire touring cast of Mamma Mia. Peter Quill continued to do nothing to ease the tension mounting amongst the crowd. 

“Sorry sir, these toys are first come, first serve and all sales are final. Could I interest you in a Barbie Dreamplane playset instead? Or maybe FurReal Friend Cubby if you’re interested in another doll?” To Peter this was payback for years of bullying at Tony’s hands in high school. It served him right to not be able to buy a Tickle-Me-Thanos, then maybe Tony’s children would suffer just like he had all those years ago. Something about the exchange felt entirely cathartic to Peter, but it only made Tony all the more livid, and it was an extremely dangerous game to get the rich and powerful of Hatchetfield angry.

“First of all, this is absolutely unacceptable” Tony spat, clutching his phone close to his chest, “And secondly, you should be ashamed of yourself Arnim, you disgusting pervert! What could you possibly want with all 850 of the dolls?” 

Zola, as unashamed as usual, shrugged in response, “What do you think Tony? Don’t worry, I’ll tell you. One will stay in it’s box, all sealed for posterity. Another will be used exclusively for bath time…” Zola continued listing all of the uses he had for the 850 Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls waiting under the counter, but Tony Stark zoned out after the first two, throwing up his hands in defeat.

“This is fucking unbelievable,” he shouted, rallying similar cries from the people behind him. ToyZone was becoming a spectacle now, drawing in people from across the mall to witness others misfortune. Schadenfreude is described as pleasure derived from the everyday pain and suffering of others, from laughing while watching someone fall down the stairs to relishing in the moment people begin to throw punches on Jerry Springer. In Hatchetfield, nothing was more therapeutic to the lower class citizens than watching a head honcho like Tony Stark lose his mind in the middle of the mall, and knowing that they themselves as bystanders wouldn’t receive any backlash at all. If anything, part of the fun was watching Tony destroy whoever inconvenienced him this time, because even in situations far less dire he was known to lose his shit.

“I demand to speak to the manager!” Tony cried, but Peter simply crossed his arms and looked forward smugly.

“Mr. Stark, I am the owner and manager of this establishment and if you keep delaying the line and causing a scene I will have you removed from the mall. If you have to get hysterical today, maybe you could take it to Macy’s!”

Tony floundered, mouth opening and closing in shock, almost like a fish out of water before wailing once again. “How dare you!” he shouted, jabbing his finger towards Peter Quill violently and putting his phone to his ear quickly. Tony, ever prepared, had left his phone on the call with Jarvis during this entire episode, absolutely prepared for the worst to happen and hoping to record it if it did. “Did you hear that Jarvis?” he asked, glaring daggers at the men standing in front of him before pausing and waiting for a response. A moment later, though, he exclaimed once again, “Of course you should call my attorney! I don’t care if you already called him earlier, you need to call him again now!”

Zola was still listing each and every doll's purpose, though his voice was drifting in and out of Tony’s peripheral hearing. “I will tickle one doll,” he muttered, eyes locked onto the doll on the counter, “and the other doll will tickle me… I think this one will do the trick.”

Scott pitched in again, shouting at Peter “I’ve been here all night! I refuse to leave here without a doll” Around him, a crowd was growing. People who wanted to bear witness to Tony’s newest meltdown mingled by the large, boxy entranceway as others who had been in line previously moved up in an attempt to get closer to the dolls and now, newest to the group, shoppers that saw a crowd and wanted in on whatever was happening in ToyZone moved in around the edges, blocking everybody in. 

Bucky, noticing this, nudged Steve, muttering “What the fuck is going on out there?” 

Steve, though, was too focused on the scene in front of him to even fathom that there was a world outside of his peripheral vision. He _needed_ a Thanos for Sharon, so he’d rush Zola and rip one from his clammy old hands if he had too. _It wouldn't be too hard to knock the old man over_ , Steve thought, staring into the side of Zola’s head with a ferocity he hadn’t felt since his time in the army. Even if it started a stampede he only needed one doll, so logically if he was the first person to reach Arnim and take one, there would be plenty left to go around. It didn’t even cross Steve’s mind that he might be dragged away by authorities for robbery, because his entire heart and soul was set on even just touching a Tickle-Me-Thanos of his own.

Thankfully for Tony and for the crowd of ravenous onlookers, Jarvis had, in fact, called Tony’s lawyer, and Tony’s lawyer just so happened to be standing rather close in line, just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the checkout counter. Dressed casually in a long coat and black business suit, Bruce Banner was the epitome of law and order as he made his way to Tony’s side. “Hi, Bruce Banner, attorney at law,” he spoke, holding out a friendly hand to Peter. When Peter shook it, he reciprocated and smoothly stepped closer to Tony, putting an arm around the smartly dressed and melting down man he represented. “I heard you two having a bit of an altercation while I was further back in line,”

“Bruce, thank god you’re here,” Tony groaned, mopping some sweat off his brow with a lace handkerchief, “this man is harassing me.”

Bruce smiled sympathetically before turning back to Peter, ‘Are you aware that my client, Anthony Stark, has a rare and little-understood anxiety disorder that he gained while serving the good people of Hatchetfield as the head of the board of science and industry? Because any lasting medical conditions that may arise from stress caused on these premises are your responsibility Mr. Quill,” Tony was attempting to appear frail, still wiping away sweat and gazing around the room pathetically, but anyone familiar with him and his ploys knew he was anything but weak, he was simply using his money and legal power to have someone strike down his enemies for him. Peter Quill took the bait like a very, very stupid fish. 

“Really?”

Tony nodded somberly as Bruce took a deep breath. “Oh yes,” Bruce started, shaking his head, “I truly hope you have your finances in order, Mr. Quill. Get ready for audits! Audits up your ears. Audits in your yinyang. In fact, you’ll have audits out your wazoo, sir.” The mortified look on Peter Quill’s face was enough for Tony to drop his weak act and begin grinning with a terrible sort of childlike joy, the kind of smile a bully has after stealing a kids lunch and realizing their parents had packed them both gushers and a fruit by the foot. Yet again, he had prevailed. Bruce took his leave then, back to his spot in line, leaving Tony to gloat. 

“All right, all right, I get it,” Peter conceded, picking up the boxed Tickle-Me-Thanos and holding it aloft for everyone to see. “We’re going to try to be fair, if only because I’ll be sued if we don’t. I’m putting a limit on how many Thanoses each customer can purchase. You can only have one Thanos per person, okay? Are you all happy now?” En masse, the line was grateful and heaved a sigh of relief. Cries of _thank you_ rang out and some members of the crowd who weren’t in the market for a Thanos doll even started clapping, but that wasn’t good enough for Tony Stark.

“No! No, I am not happy now! Why does the limit have to be one, that number is so arbitrary. Why can’t you pick a nice, even number that everyone in line can agree upon, like four,” To be fair, if Tony hadn’t thrown a tantrum like a toddler earlier Peter probably would have given in yet again, but he had been pushed around and lost far too much money already on what was supposed to be the best day for retailers in the entire calendar year. Instead, he just shook his head sharply, denying the request while the crowd booed. “What? You could buy less if you want!”

Everyone was beginning to get restless, with a sort of fervor growing amongst the crowd as they waited. More and more everyday citizens were having thoughts akin to Steve’s, just wanting to grab what should rightfully be there’s. They controlled themselves well, but the general patience of the people who had stood in line all night was quickly running short. Even the people who had gathered with no intention of buying a Tickle-Me-Thanos were beginning to get upset, drawn in by the pull and allure of the little purple man. Even Zola, always creepily calm, was beginning to lose his cool.

“Excuse me, I thought all sales were final,” he noted, crossing his arms and snatching his money up off of the counter.

“Look, Zola, you’re not getting all the dolls,” Peter shouted. Years of pent up rage at entitled shoppers was bursting forth from within him with an incredible zeal, exploding outward and offending the entire crowd of paying customers. If Peter was in his right mind he would have been mortified, but he wasn’t. Something was dragging these repressed feelings and emotions from his mouth, making him want to destroy each and every person in the way of his trip to Waikiki. Wanda, who had been standing by this entire time at the gift wrapping station, was very confused to say the least. Where was the manager who had been so passive aggressive it hurt, refusing to truly insult her without a veil? Wherever he was, this was a very, very different man, even if he looked and sounded the same. 

“Well now, you’ll be hearing from MY attorney! Bruce!” Zola shouted, and Bruce once again rushed to the front of the line, taking his place at Zola’s side this time instead of Tony’s. There were many benefits of being the only lawyer in practice on the island, one of which being that most of the citizens trusted Bruce exclusively with their legal matters, but there were also many, many downfalls, the most important one being he often gave legal counsel on both sides of cases, as he was doing now.

“Bruce Banner, attorney at law!” Bruce started, shaking Peter’s hand again forcibly before rushing into his speech. “Did you know that my client, Arnim Zola, is being discriminated against-”

“Oh, shut up Bruce!” Tony shouted, cutting him off quickly and kneeing him in the groin. Bruce went down like a sack of potatoes, hitting the ground with a dull thud and groaning something along the lines of _right in the subpoena_. 

“What the fuck Tony!” Peter shouted, looking at the man writhing in pain on the floor, but Tony just shrugged. That’s when things started to get a little messy.

“Forget this line!” A man shouted, emerging from the line. Steve recognized him as Sam Wilson. He’d been captain of the swim team back in high school and joined the army a few years after Steve had, coming home around the same time. They didn’t speak much these days, but Sam was always nice when they ran into each other at the grocery store. Sam had even come to Peggy’s funeral, offering anecdotes from her childhood. It seemed entirely out of character for him to be causing a fuss in the middle of ToyZone, but there he was, clear as day, pulling a wad of cash from his wallet and holding it up. “I will pay $500 cash for one of those Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls,”

“Now there’s an idea!” Peter cried, raising the Thanos high above his head once again and grinning wildly, “would you like it gift wrapped?”

Bobby butted in then, shoving Sam to the side and nearly tripping over Bruce, who was only now getting up, on his way. “I’ll give you $700!” There was desperation in his eyes. Bucky was starting to get very, very nervous.

“Steve, we need to get out of here,” he whispered, grabbing the larger man’s arm and tugging him, but Steve didn’t budge. “Come on, this isn’t going to end well Steve, we need to go,”

Steve yanked his arm away harshly, nearly sending Bucky sprawling to the floor. The usual kindness in his eyes was replaced with a sort of fervor, with his pupils blown wide. “Bucky, these are the only Tickle-Me-Thanos dolls on this entire island. If we leave now, we’ll never make it somewhere else in time to get them. Are you going to sit here and complain, or are you going to man up and take what you want?”

Bucky took a good hard look at the doll and it was like he suddenly understood. He’d lie, cheat, steal, or even kill to get his hands on a Thanos. In that moment even Miles, the child waiting at St. Damien’s for his Christmas gift, didn’t matter anymore. Only Thanos mattered.

The bidding was getting wilder now, with people getting out of line and clambering towards the front of the store while wailing their bids. Wanda, who was scared out of her mind, came out from behind the counter and started to try to corral them back into some semblance of order. “Come on guys,” she said, raising her voice to be heard above the masses of humanity gathered before her, “everyone who wants a Thanos needs to get back in line!” She was promptly shoved to the ground by Sam, who shouted a hearty _shut the fuck up_ before Steve stepped foreward and dragged him aside.

“Get your hands off her!” Steve shouted, but Sam pulled away from his grip, pushing through the crowd to get closer to the checkout counter again as Wanda got to her feet and grabbed a nearby shelf for stability.

Peter wasn’t impacted in the slightest, despite the insanity around him. He saw hundreds of people just waiting to give him enough money that he never had to set foot inside that god damned toy store ever again, and he would be damned if any do-gooders got between him and his trip to Waikiki. “Show me the money people!” He shouted, waving the doll around haphazardly.

“What the fuck are you doing Peter?” Wanda asked, getting behind the counter once again and shaking Peter gently but he pushed her back, caught up in the moment. Out in the crowd, people who hadn’t come to the mall for a Tickle-Me-Thanos in the first place were now wailing their bids, pushing their way into the increasingly cramped storefront.

“$800!” Cried Sam, taking more money out of his wallet.

“$3!” Shouted Steve, though Bucky was attempting to search his pockets for more cash.

Bruce, who was still fairly out of it, asked “Can I use these coupons?” Pathetically waving a few vouchers for Auntie Anne’s Pretzels above his head. But suddenly, he was shoved to the side by Scott Lang, who wailed in anguish while desperately searching his wallet for cash.

“This is insanity!” Scott yelled, “I lost my job when the pencil factory closed just like a lot of the other parents in this line. I can’t afford to pay over $800 for a doll! A Tickle-Me-Thanos is $49.95,”

Peter grinned at him, and said “ Sorry buddy, the price just went up!” Emphasising each and every word with venom dripping from his tone, “Supply and demand is a wonderful thing. Whoever pays me the most for a Thanos, gets a Thanos!” Scott paused, breathing heavily, and then locked eyes with Peter.

“Well then, I guess I’ll just have to take one instead.”

Then, all hell broke loose. 

Scott screamed like a man possessed and ran at the counter, throwing himself into Peter’s body and wrestling the doll out of his hands before holding it up triumphantly. Wanda started screaming and reaching for her bottle of pepper spray but it had rolled out of her vest pocket when she was knocked down, so she was powerless against a fully grown man who had suddenly gone feral. Then, the rest of the crowd rushed forwards, trampling each other in an inescapable stampede. 

“If he gets one, I want four!” Tony shouted, rushing around to the other side of the counter and grabbing at boxes, but he wasn’t the only one with that idea. Hundreds of people were grabbing for dolls, throwing each other down to clamber towards the front of the group and snarling like animals in a zoo. Steve watched, terrified, and froze. It was all so senseless and haphazard, violence for the sake of violence. Every bit of it reminded him of his time overseas.

Memories of places and people filled his senses, rushing around the edges of his vision. Soon soldiers were mixed in with shoppers, shouting and shooting at everything they saw as a threat while rushing towards the front in an attempt to save those who had been trampled. _Stop_ , he thought, _this won’t work! They’re just people, they don’t understand! Please stop shooting!_ but he couldn’t move a muscle. Every inch of his body was immobile and his need for a doll was momentarily overrun by his most basic fight or flight instinct. He only woke up from the living dream when Bucky grabbed his arm and started running towards the opposite end of the store.

“Steve, you need to snap out of it!” Bucky was yelling. Then Steve noticed that Bucky was holding a doll under his arm. Sure, it had been pulled out of its box and looked a little bit disheveled, but it was a Tickle-Me-Thanos, and it was theirs. He tried to reach out for it as they ran, but Bucky yanked it away, pulling them into a corner of the store and looking around for something he could use as a weapon. 

“How the hell did you get one?” Steve asked, still dazed, but Bucky shushed him quickly, deciding on a baseball bat from a nearby display.

“Are you trying to draw every single person in this fucking store over to us? Jesus Christ Steve!” He hissed, coming back over to the corner where Steve had crouched down, looking around. “If we're gonna make it out of here we need to stay quiet, put this doll in your coat and zip it up. Don’t look suspicious!” Steve did as he was asked quickly, consumed by a feeling of overwhelming warmth the moment he had his hands on the doll. After a morning from hell, there it was, firm and real in his hands just begging to be taken home. 

The two men laid low there in the corner for a few minutes, catching their breaths and coming up with a plan, but back at the front counter the chaos hadn’t ceased. In fact, it was much, much worse than it had been before. Blood was splattered in small pools across the entire floor, along with some unlucky shoppers that had been trampled in the rush. None of them had died yet, but it was clear that if some of them didn’t get medical attention soon that the death count would start going up. In the first aisle over from the main stretch, Bruce Banner was crouched with his hands covered in green paint from some art kid. Rubbing it all over his face, he growled as people rushed past, out of the store and into the greater mall.

Most of the people who had rushed the store fled the moment they got their hands on a doll, but those that hadn’t had rushed to the rest of the building, beginning to ransack other buildings and attack shoppers in a futile attempt to find another doll. 10 or so shoppers, though, found themselves still in ToyZone, scouring the shelves and cornering the employees. Among the shoppers still at ToyZone were Tony, Scott, Bruce, Sam, Bobby, and Zola, along with some others, and they were all fuming. 

“Where the fuck are the rest of the dolls Quill,” Scott shouted as the small group descended on Peter and Wanda, who had attempted to barricade the staff room but failed miserably.

“Shut up!” Peter rebuked, spitting into the face of the man nearest to him before being pulled back by Wanda.

“Peter, you shut up!” She whispered through gritted teeth, “They don’t exactly look like they’re in the mood to bargain.”

“I don’t give a shit!” Peter pulled free of her grip, attempting to stand his ground against the men circling him, “This is my toy store! You all need to leave, now!” 

Tony was the one who finally made a move, throwing Peter to the ground and setting one of his heels straight onto the center of Peter’s now exposed throat. “You know,” he hissed, “you’ve always been pathetic Quill.” Peter gasped for breath, but Tony just chuckled, pressing down harder. “This could’ve gone very differently for you, but instead you decided not to sell us the dolls. For that you’ll have to be punished.” 

The punishment was delivered swiftly, almost mercifully in comparison to a boot to the throat. Tony kicked Peter quickly in the head, knocking him entirely unconscious. Wanda screamed, a bloodcurdling thing that rang out and echoed through the entire room, but she soon suffered a similar fate. The last thing she remembered before blackness was being shoved down by Zola and trampled as the small group started to turn on one another. Now, in the chaos and disorder, the remaining shoppers began to scour the store.

“We need to make a run for it,” Bucky whispered from his and Steve’s hiding place, listening to the others destroy shelves across the store.

“Where do we go?” Steve muttered, gripping the doll tightly inside his coat. 

“The exit near the Cineplex, my car is parked right outside. If we get there, we’ll be out with my Thanos in just a few minutes.”

“Your?” Steve shouted, outraged. Shit, he blew it.

“Run...” Bucky muttered, and then the first twisted, enraged shopper had made their way to them, scuttling like some sort of terrifying monster, “Run!”

And run they did. They made it out the front entrance of ToyZone by a millisecond, with Bucky unfortunately dropping the bat after hitting a man along the way. The way his face had crunched was sickening, but there was no time to think about that now. It was survival of the fittest, with the strongest going home with a Thanos and the weakest not going home at all. It was an utter juxtaposition; light and darkness, good and evil, feast and famine. Madness had dug its talons into Hatchetfield Mall, and there was no stopping the chaos that followed. 

Slowly, the remaining shoppers emerged from ToyZone, one by one, into the greater mall, each and every one with hands coated in a thick layer of blood. They were on the hunt for a Thanos, and they’d stop at nothing to get one. The game was afoot, and it wasn’t over until they got a Tickle-Me-Thanos or they died trying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are finally happening in Hatchetfield, and it only gets crazier from here! Sorry for the delay in posting this chapter! I love the song Feast or Famine from the show, so I wanted to do it justice, and my life got a little crazy in the middle of the writing process so I didn’t get the chance to revise as much as I wanted to. It’s still not perfect, but I’m happy with the result. Thank you for reading! As usual, comments and constructive criticism are greatly appreciated.

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to Hatchetfield! This fic will be updating once a week every Wednesday until it’s completed. I will be using it as my Camp NaNoWriMo project this year, so it could be completed as soon as the end of July, but I also might draw it out for editing purposes. I hope you’re excited to delve into this little universe. Comments are always welcome, I’d love to hear your thoughts on this crazy little project of mine. Thank you for reading!


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